Her soft brown eyes, inherited from Larry, warmed an already pretty face. Ann Veronica wiped a scalpel, put a card over a watch-glass containing thin shreds of embryonic guinea-pig swimming in mauve stain, and dismantled her microscope. “Dear me!” he said. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. Anna took up the pen, and signed, after a moment’s hesitation, A. And, turning to his daughter, he gave the necessary directions in a low tone.
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