He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. 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’ve eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ He grunted. The guineas are not for serving your mistress. But she was only able to save a corner of the letter. As a rule their comings and goings were discussed with perfect confidence, but on this occasion they both felt that there was intent in her silence as to her destination. Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world.
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