Then Capes shifted his eyes to her microscope and the little trays of unmounted sections beside it. Sheila bellowed, a great wail of a sound from deep in her belly, flinging her tremendous weight towards him. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. She was always breaking rules, whispering asides, intimating signals. She was, she guessed, close to the library. He tired of his popcorn and placed it under his seat.
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