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’ Chapter Twelve In the elegantly appointed blue saloon, Melusine sat disconsolate, gazing out of the window at the dull sky. 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. And here are these places, full of contagion! “Of course, this is the real texture of life, this is what we refined secure people forget. ’ Melusine did not reply. She seemed bursting with the desire to talk, and watching for her opportunity. Not to go to her is wickeder than if I had run away with my friend's wife. “I wish this hadn’t turned up to-day of all days.
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