“It does nothing but sit there. I have written, called—of what avail is anything—against that look. But it is all over now, and presently there will be some one else. 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 can teach them so many things! Music, Latin, mathematics! Please do not take my Anna and Fritz away!” It was of no use.
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