“About my sister,” she repeated slowly. Now I’d like the rest of your story. A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued. It was the first expression of the mother's blood. 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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