Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street. 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 was the last on board. Then he took the pulse. ’ ‘And was not she put out?’ demanded Miss Froxfield with a tinkling laugh. "It is an ordinary wedding," he added; "some shopkeeper's daughter. \"The movie's not 'til eight o’clock, so we have plenty of time to get ready.
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