She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. 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. ‘That’s why I never told Joan Ibstock that you were still with me when I wrote.
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