She ran towards the arched stone door, her mouth forming an “O” of surprise as she realized that she was in the high turret of an ocean side castle. 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. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit. Gerald seized Melusine by the hand and drew her towards the stairs, throwing a command at Kimble as he did so. Put him in the stocks, and there let him sleep off his drunken fit. “This is all madness,” she declared wearily. A familiar figure was making his way towards them.
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