Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. 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. Sheppard, fervently. Heaven forbid. “Lucy, this isn’t funny anymore. You seem to want this chap out of Canton. Not far from him was a knot of lads drinking, swearing, and playing at dice as eagerly and as skilfully as any of the older hands.
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