He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. The sky periodically pummeled her with hail pellets as she would pass through the deserted intersections. At least here she was safe. “Thank you—and good-bye. Always as black and bitter as gall. He came along, he said, just to call, with large, loud apologies, radiantly kind and good. He called it "The Man Who Could Not Go Home.
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