Part 6 When Ann Veronica reached her little bed-sitting-room again, every nerve in her body was quivering with shame and self-disgust. As usual, however, on the occasion of any great calamity, a crowd was scouring the streets, whose sole object was plunder. I won't have a beachcomber on the island. I didn’t ought to have sent for him. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. She was mentally transported for an instant to the old castle in Herculis. 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.
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