However this may be now, it was unquestionably true of old Newgate. 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. "Take the prisoners below, Nab," said Jonathan, addressing the dwarfish Jew; "I'll join you in an instant.
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