He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby. And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms. He wasn't quite hard enough to win worldly success; that was his fault. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. "Aw Come. ‘Moreover, no one will believe any more that Yolande is me when they see this. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. “It’s fine, Michelle. My wife doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand now. And that would spoil it. She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him.
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