Afraid there'll be a love-affair. ’ ‘No, you are a gentleman,’ she agreed. . No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. 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. Take my child to—it is—oh God!—I am sinking—take it—take it!" "Where?" shouted Wood.
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