His face was wreathed in smiles, his beringed hand was cordially outstretched. The characters of the youthful occupants of the room might be detected in every article it contained. "What in the world is it?" he asked. "I am your most unhappy son. After all, why should I care what strangers think?" Ruth asked with sudden heat. He still watched her and questioned her. There was a short, red-faced, resolute youth who inherited an authoritative attitude upon bacteriology from his father; a Japanese student of unassuming manners who drew beautifully and had an imperfect knowledge of English; and a dark, unwashed Scotchman with complicated spectacles, who would come every morning as a sort of volunteer supplementary demonstrator, look very closely at her work and her, tell her that her dissections were “fairish,” or “very fairish indeed,” or “high above the normal female standard,” hover as if for some outbreak of passionate gratitude and with admiring retrospects that made the facetted spectacles gleam like diamonds, return to his own place. . He turned to Ruth and McClintock. In a voice husky with suppressed despair, she answered.
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