A sense of loss was amongst us. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. “I am a fool,” he said. 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. You understand. Three times she escaped.
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