“Rummy lot we are!” said Roddy. The biological laboratory, perpetually viewing life as pairing and breeding and selection, and again pairing and breeding, seemed only a translated generalization of that assertion. "You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. We'll have some fun down there at my place, Spurlock; but we'll probably bore your wife to death. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance.
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