Clientèle was of the most transitory character. He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. He jumps the words out of your mouth; he takes hold of what you have to say before you have had time to express it properly. And he liked her. 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. As he looked in this direction, Wild gave him a significant wink, the meaning of which he was not slow to comprehend.
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