” Lucy said, watching people mechanically pump quarters into the till. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. “I’ll ruin your suit. 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. I am apparently a beast, a pig and an imbecile, too, if memory serves me. I always fall on my feet, you know. This she would not endure.
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