Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. 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. ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. She prevaricated.
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