It was as much accident as anything, but she had killed him. 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. “We’re in for it. "When it thunders, the thief becomes honest," muttered Wood. Whatever anticipation Ann Veronica had formed of this vanished in the reality. She wanted to know. See what you have made of me. ‘I was just looking the place over when I heard you calling out. Mr. Wood. I’m not a lovesick boy.
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