He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. “Your mother was a Gypsy. The latter haughtily returned his salutation, and flung himself, as if exhausted, into a chair. She stood up and he sat down at the microscope, and for a time he was busy scrutinizing one section after another. His eyes never left her face. ” His voice sounded muffled and heavy, as if he had gone to bed.
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