And she seemed always to keep one eye on Ann Veronica’s dress. The Scot understood that, gently and indirectly, Ruth was asking her husband a question, opening a door if he cared to enter. 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.
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