" "Oh, that!" she said, with a deprecating gesture. 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 Storm VII. Montague Hill do not interest me in the least. To have the present lengthen into years! But in a few hours she would be upon her way, far lonelier than she had ever been. She stared at him. She was too late.
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