"No, no," rejoined Thames; "fly—or I will not answer for your safety. “But where are you going? Lucy, you’re safe here. Ann Veronica had come to the Imperial College obsessed by the great figure of Russell, by the part he had played in the Darwinian controversies, and by the resolute effect of the grim-lipped, yellow, leonine face beneath the mane of silvery hair. She felt terribly modern, even sporty as the magazines declared you should be. Don’t, don’t say anything now, not anything.
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