Can you come over?” “I think so. . She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap. 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. Here, turnkey. She had even played in an opera by Verdi once, but had to dress as a boy to do it. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front.
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