We have known men who have come here for no other purpose than to prove their unassailable virtue, who have strode into the arena of temptation, waving the—the what is it—the white flower of a blameless life, only to exchange it with marvellous facility for the violets of the Parisienne. ‘Peste,’ she wailed, as Emile dropped to the floor, ducking down. 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. She heard the ocean in the distance, waves crashing on the beach, high tide. . 'Sdeath! what can I have done with it? Oh! here it is," cried Hogarth, picking it from the ground. There was a bare chance that he had been mistaken. He’s nice.
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