The crowning aspect of the incident, for her mind, was the discovery that he and her indiscretion with him no longer mattered very much. I told her I was sick today and she told me to get over myself. 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. Nobody knows what his real name is, but he's a Hollander. “Tell him that he is mad. ” “No you’re not. I don't care how soon he learns that he has lost his adopted son. The streets were deserted as they drove past familiar sites. He had been formally adopted by the Becks at the age of twelve.
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