It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. “Here’s something rather good,” he said, and with a start and an effort she took his place at the microscope, while he stood beside her and almost leaning over her. I have been sitting with him ever since. Wood turned over to obtain a more comfortable position.
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