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On that basis alone, he had no right to give or accept love. I’m six hundred and forty-eight years old, John! I should have never seduced a young boy, let alone expected him to keep my secrets for me. She is extremely lovely, but for her to have borne the name of the Blessed Virgin would have been nothing short of sacrilege. Sir John once more looked around him. 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.
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