Both girls looked pale and listless. “Ritter’s!” said Ramage to the driver, “Dean Street. ‘Poor things. “Oh, it is okay. 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. When she was quite sure that he was gone she took her sister’s note from the mantelpiece and slowly broke the seal. The rest of his attire was nondescript. It was an odd room, used principally for the reception of guests and visiting dignitaries, packed from end to end with ill-assorted sofas and padded chairs. But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. They have rescued the child. . Why can’t you let it be?’ Gerald grinned at him.
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