"To-morrow it will be mine. She looked around her. 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. She hung for a moment, and then went on, conclusively, “Until we have the vote that is how things WILL be. That is why you came here, isn’t it?’ ‘Alors, now we know who is the spy, Monsieur Gérard.
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