Yes. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. 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. We are nuns. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. ’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. Anna was having tea by herself when she entered.
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