“Good-bye,” he said earnestly. 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. John’s best friend’s parents were to be out of town again, he reported. B. Shari’s eyes widened, “You mean it?” “I’m all yours, head to toe. I was stupid—stupid and impulsive beyond measure to burst upon you in this way.
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