He measured out the portion of another peg, the bottle wavering in his hand. 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. Voices floated down, but there was no sound of pursuit. “Were you thinking of private apartments, a boarding-house or an hotel?” she asked. But be patient, I am your fast friend. It must be sent home this evening.
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