But from the first her rather old-fashioned conception of life had jarred with the suburban atmosphere, the High School spirit and the memories of the light and little Mrs. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. “You’re a biologist, aren’t you?” He began to talk of his own impressions of biology as a commonplace magazine reader who had to get what he could from the monthly reviews, and was glad to meet with any information from nearer the fountainhead. I did not lay any traps for her. They conversed, or more or less she interviewed him. .
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