Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. Why had she married him, off-hand, like that? She did not love him, or he knew nothing of love signs. 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 see, we travelled second class, and we are in the least known quarter of Paris. " "Graves. ” Ramage reflected. She knew blood was rushing to his face and other places as well. The back of the house had been the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai.
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