The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. He would talk to Spurlock, but from the bench; as a judge, not as a chagrined lover. Then suddenly he seized a new preparation bottle that stood upon his table and contained the better part of a week’s work—a displayed dissection of a snail, beautifully done—and hurled it across the room, to smash resoundingly upon the cemented floor under the bookcase; then, without either haste or pause, he swept his arm along a shelf of re-agents and sent them to mingle with the debris on the floor. Entering the house, he found himself in a narrow passage leading to the back stairs. If there was such a thing as love at first sight, these two must epitomise it.
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