Each wing had a small cupola; and, in the centre of the pile rose a larger dome, surmounted by a gilded ball and vane. ‘Whither away, mademoiselle?’ he said grimly, ungently grasping her arm above the elbow. He glanced at it, and saw the bloodied blade. His mother used to live i' this village, just down yonder; but when her son took to bad ways, she went distracted,—and now she's i' Bedlam, I've heerd. 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. I should be sorry if Shotbolt got the reward.
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