\"Stop smiling, you're scaring me. 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 made a pretence of rising and making a sortie to the corner to see if anyone was there. I suppose I was a little idiotic—I don’t think we either of us mentioned the future, but it was arranged that I should go the next afternoon and have tea with her. Whisky kills him suddenly; it does not sap him gradually.
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