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 believe,” he said slowly, “that I shall do best to throw myself upon your consideration and tell you the truth. I am your servitor. “I have made over seven hundred pounds in the last week,” he said. "All that you have been telling me, our old Kanaka cook summed up in a phrase. Go and prepare for our departure. ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing.
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