The back of the house had been the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai. "Your wife?" "His lawful wife," said Ruth, with fine dignity. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Ann Veronica wiped a scalpel, put a card over a watch-glass containing thin shreds of embryonic guinea-pig swimming in mauve stain, and dismantled her microscope. "You heard me say it! It was inevitable.
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