She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. She had been working upon a ribbon of microtome sections of the developing salamander, and he came to see what she had made of them. The wine bubbled and seethed; and the exquisite bouquet of oranges permeated the room. His back was no sooner turned, than she slipped this casket into the box. A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. Wood; but they never come now.
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