Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. He drew a little breath of relief. And she was about as capable of intelligent argument as a runaway steam-roller. Hill again—alive. " "As you please, Sir," replied the tapstress, coolly. 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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