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. ‘Go and fetch her home,’ he said; ‘it isn’t what we thought! It’s just a practical joke of hers. He knew. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. Then Sheila noticed the stains. In Larry’s old Cadillac sedan, she sat in the backseat as Larry drove and Cathy sat beside him. Lucy dug out an old light gray cotton miniskirt that had shrunk on Shari in the wash.
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