On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. 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. Don’t imagine that. ” “And I may bring my luggage in and send that cabman away?” Anna asked.
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