It was Annabel’s. ’ Melusine’s instant annoyance must have shown in her face. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. 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. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. “I believe,” he said, “that you mean me to be Prime Minister.
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