Hill, Meysey Hill. The weed was all right. ’ ‘Lucky indeed,’ answered Gerald, glancing at the pair again. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. ‘He destroyed the papers?’ ‘That’s right,’ Roding said, throwing her a glance of frowning surprise, as if he had not rated her intelligence so high. 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.
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