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. He seemed resigned but cheerful, and held frequent and serious discourses with the ordinary, who felt satisfied of his sincere penitence. Couldn’t face me with what he’d done, the miserable blackguard. "He has not the power—perhaps not the will to do so.
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