Opposite, his pupil stood with bowed head and clasped hands. Then suddenly he seized a new preparation bottle that stood upon his table and contained the better part of a week’s work—a displayed dissection of a snail, beautifully done—and hurled it across the room, to smash resoundingly upon the cemented floor under the bookcase; then, without either haste or pause, he swept his arm along a shelf of re-agents and sent them to mingle with the debris on the floor. Well, well; all he himself could do would be to watch this singular drama unroll. “Can’t stop, thanks,” he answered. “What would you like to hear? Some J. I'm not noble; so my honourable ancestors will not turn over in their graves.
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