She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. Still, her face never betrayed this distraction. He passed, and came loitering back and stood beside her, silently looking into her face. She had one idea, she found, very clear in her mind—that she would get a Research Scholarship, and so contrive another year in the laboratory. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains.
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