" "It's mine, I'll be sworn," rejoined Wood. 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. “How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime. “Is that okay with you? To go down to the station with him?” “I’ll go with him, Larry.
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