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. On that basis alone, he had no right to give or accept love. “It may be her salvation. I'm sure she'll let me go, though. ‘Eh bien?’ ‘You are perfectly right, Melusine. Wow.
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