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"Jack!" she cried, raising her head. 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. ’ ‘The horse?’ echoed Melusine. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. The hotel manager was expostulating and Ah Cum was replying by a series of expressive shrugs.

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