I thought that he was dead. "Come home directly, Sir. Me, you may have. If you’ll forgive my saying that, and implying what goes with it. Her sister had told him that it was true. 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. Almost instantly she had recognized the fallacy of such a statement.
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