Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. "Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. Then Capes shifted his eyes to her microscope and the little trays of unmounted sections beside it. You want to think for a time, to be free for a time.
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