He was there concealed, waiting her return. The path he had selected conducted him to his mother's humble dwelling. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. Tea in the laboratory was a sort of suffragette reception. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. She yielded it without protest, as though unconsciously.
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