He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby. He sat on the bed, throwing aside his hat. ‘How could you possibly know it?’ ‘I know it,’ Lucilla told him frostily, ‘because Dorothée told me that Madame Valade went off with Gerald positively purring in her ear—which is a thing he never does—and came back with him looking like the cat after cream. ‘Stay, Saling!’ The butler halted, looking round enquiringly.
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