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. “The thing is forbidden!” “I am ready to give up anything that you show to be wrong. Have you been away from Morningside Park?” “I’m not interrupting you?” “You are. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. She stood face to face with him, and his voice cut across her speech and made her stop abruptly. ‘She is constantly thinking of you,’ I said. However good you were to me, and however happy I was in other ways, I should find this intolerable.
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