There was a short, red-faced, resolute youth who inherited an authoritative attitude upon bacteriology from his father; a Japanese student of unassuming manners who drew beautifully and had an imperfect knowledge of English; and a dark, unwashed Scotchman with complicated spectacles, who would come every morning as a sort of volunteer supplementary demonstrator, look very closely at her work and her, tell her that her dissections were “fairish,” or “very fairish indeed,” or “high above the normal female standard,” hover as if for some outbreak of passionate gratitude and with admiring retrospects that made the facetted spectacles gleam like diamonds, return to his own place. “Vee!” said Miss Stanley, “you hear what your father says!” Miss Stanley struggled with emotion. Following her lead, he fortified himself with a swallow of the excellent Madeira before responding. “No lecturing, Anna!” she exclaimed. “Yes,” she answered, looking away. ‘Dieu du ciel, but answer me!’ Martha’s eyes were swimming again, and she reached out.
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