The plank hung over his head. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. 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. Nevertheless, Ann Veronica found it a difficult matter not to think of these things. She turned and looked at the red LED of the alarm clock that read 3:55. “I wondered.
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