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Yet the smoke was curling upwards in a faint innocent-looking cloud to the ceiling. He would see this sister. ‘Jarvis Remenham was your mother’s father. ’ He heard Roding snort, and suppressed a grin as he bowed, taking the trouble to salute Madame’s hand and cast her a provocative look as he did so. “That sounds quite absurd,” she answered. 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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