Ramage. ‘Say then, Jacques, you have followed him?’ she demanded of the blackgarbed footman. 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. The girl suppressed a chuckle that would have been inexplicable. Love is a great thing, and happiness a joy. They had their little dreams about her. The idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself. Around him were all the evidences of plenty. “We pretend bodies are ugly.
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