” Then he went on to say: “Well, you’ve had your little adventure, and I hope now you’ve had enough of it. ” “The only Montague Hill I ever knew,” Annabel said slowly, “is dead. . 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. She addressed her letters, meditated on them for a time, and then took them out and posted them.
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