She made herself a private declaration of liberty. Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. He must win this man's confidence, even at the risk of being called mad. The delay was only momentary. 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. Makes you real. Kneebone's.
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