It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. . And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. ’ ‘I like that,’ Gerald protested. 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 want to be your friend,” he said.
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