He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. Ennison listened, and his eyes glowed. 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'm neither an infidel nor an agnostic, so I'll content myself by saying that the hand of God is in this somewhere. He could not possibly lunge in the confined space, and so had nothing to do but back himself into the chapel as fast as he could.
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