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Sheppard. 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. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. "Do you see any likeness?" "Don't I," returned Jack, bitterly. ” “I wonder how he treated Gwen.
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