” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. “Thank you both for treating me for all the world like I was your child. ” The doors at the other end of the hall opened. “Guineas, of course,” Mr. 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.
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