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’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. 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. The chapel was situated in the old ballroom, and from there, down a few stairs, the vestry had taken the place of the pantry next to the kitchens. She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor.
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