She thought of them as fools, but had been sorry to see them go. 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. More than half the city perished. “What can one do?” asked Ann Veronica. “Hello, Vee!” he said. “You are Mademoiselle Pellissier?” he asked, without rising to his feet. . She told her husband that she wished her nothing more than her own death.
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