” “No doubt. Montague Hill is. “Here goes,” he said. Before he even glanced at the man on the floor he stepped over to her side and took the poker from her. “That was a moment of madness,” she said. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms. 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. Let us walk about. He grasped Lucilla’s elbow. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being.
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