Gerald realised Lucy had taken the hint, for she dragged her betrothed towards the door. “We have scarcely mentioned your name. You won’t want to be late the first evening, and it’s ten minutes past seven now. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. The walls of the room were lined with shelves, on which were glass jars, retorts, countless bottles and many appliances of surgical science. I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think.
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