He rose, surrendered his paper to the morose elderly young
assistant demonstrator who had welcomed him so flatteringly eight
months before, and walked down the laboratory to the door where the
rest of his fellow-students clustered.
Smithers was talking loudly about the "twistiness" of the
identification, and the youngster with the big ears was listening
attentively.
"Here's Lewisham! How did _you_ get on, Lewisham?" asked Smithers,
not concealing his assurance.
"Horribly," said Lewisham shortly, and pushed past.
"Did you spot D?" clamoured Smithers.
Lewisham pretended not to hear.
Miss Heydinger stood with her hat in her hand and looked at Lewisham's
hot eyes. He was for walking past her, but something in her face
penetrated even his disturbance. He stopped.
"Did you get out the nephridium?" he said as graciously as he could.
She shook her head. "Are you going downstairs?" she asked.
"Rather," said Lewisham, with a vague intimation in his manner of the
offence Smithers gave him.
He opened the glass door from the passage to the staircase. They went
down one tier of that square spiral in silence.
"Are you coming up again next year?" asked Miss Heydinger.
"No," said Lewisham. "No, I shall not come here again. Ever.
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