She shut the door behind her. Was she so fearful still? Roding shrugged and grimaced. He never said hello, as if it had become a personal taboo for him. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. There was, in fact, only one clear thought in his fevered brain: he had reached the hotel without falling down. She might be able to go on with biology, possibly even work upon the same questions that he dealt with. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it.
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