‘Léonore, then?’ She shook her head animatedly, enjoying his attention. I have a weapon—a knife—and if you attempt to open the door, will plunge it to my heart. 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. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap.
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