“Soul to soul. And Pottiswick, of course. ” Again on his way homeward from Cavendish Square he abandoned the direct route to pass by the door of Anna’s flat. 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. While you live in my house you must follow my ideas. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice. Suppose—suppose a girl did want to start in life, start in life for herself—” She looked him frankly in the eyes.
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