Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. ‘Oh, peste, you make me late!’ She glared up at Roding. It would have been a crisis anyhow, but it was complicated in Ann Veronica’s mind by the fact that a letter lay on the breakfast-table from Mr. 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 would have to return to Hong-Kong; and his trail would be picked up the moment he set foot on the Praya.
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