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The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed. Ramage—about the forty pounds. “Will you come this way,” she said, “into the drawing-room? There is no one there just now. "Well, what sort of journey have you had, Quilt?" asked the man as he hastened to assist Sir Rowland to dismount. She was quite oblivious to the sensation she had created.
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