"What is all this, dear Winny?" inquired Thames, as soon as they were alone. The floor was strewn with screws, nails, fragments of wood and stone, and across the passage lay the heavy iron fillet. I am your first, of course you feel strongly. Here and there, patches of flesh adhered to the bones, and the dank dripping hair hanging about what had once been the face, gave it a ghastly appearance. No doubt— because he did not understand you—he thought you had run away with someone. But what can we do? Here am I, fixed to respectability and this laboratory; you’re living at home. I am the cause of his ill-usage.
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