Yet before she turned once more to resume her flight she schooled herself with an effort to look where it had happened. Could she understand what she was talking about? Luckily it was a second-class carriage and the ordinary fellowtravellers were not there. William Kneebone was a woollen-draper of "credit and renown," whose place of business was held at the sign of the Angel (for, in those days, every shop had its sign), opposite Saint Clement's church in the Strand. His eyes were red. But she must stop him getting away. 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. ” “Why not?” “Free woman—and equal. “I was never so clear in all my life as I have been in this business. I shall count it a privilege. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window.
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