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. "Right," said the Master, "I didn't think of her. She tiptoed into the entryway where some decorator had placed a live orchid upon a glassy ebony table.
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