"He can't get out. 'But I don't desire to spoil sport,—not I. He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Gerald. " As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey.
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