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Wells, H. G. (Herbert George), 1866-1946

"The Research Magnificent"

) At the club at present men would be sitting about
holding themselves back from dinner. Excellent the clear soup
always was at the club! Then perhaps a Chateaubriand. That--what
was that? Soft and large and quite near and noiseless. An owl!
The damp feeling was coming through his cloak. And this April night
air had a knife edge. Early ice coming down the Atlantic perhaps.
It was wonderful to be here on the top of the round world and feel
the icebergs away there. Or did this wind come from Russia? He
wasn't quite clear just how he was oriented, he had turned about so
much. Which was east? Anyhow it was an extremely cold wind.
What had he been thinking? Suppose after all that ending with Mrs.
Skelmersdale was simply a beginning. So far he had never looked sex
in the face. . . .
He sat up and sneezed violently.
It would be ridiculous to start out seeking the clue to one's life
and be driven home by rheumatic fever. One should not therefore
incur the risk of rheumatic fever.
Something squealed in the bushes.
It was impossible to collect one's thoughts in this place.


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