"If Jack would come to my house, I'd contrive to hide him," remarked a buxom dame. 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 knows them. You're alone, too, child. You are afraid—that here in London—I shall not be a success. Yet he stays. ” It was a long, meandering talk, stupid, shameful, and unavoidable. Sheppard.
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