The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet. It was his particular hobby, and the leisure he had to apply to it had given him a remarkable appraising eye. What’s your name?” He asked in return. 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. There was still in his heart that fierce anger which demands physical expression; but he had to consider Ruth in all phases.
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