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. So that the thought of Ann Veronica up-stairs had been extremely painful for her through all the silent dinner-time that night. The Master of the Mint was accompanied by another gentleman almost as portly as himself, and quite as deliberate in his movements. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. He was a tall man and fair, with bluish eyes that were rather protuberant, and long white hands of which he made a display. SHOOH!” “That’s no reason,” said Ann Veronica, speaking through her handkerchief and stopping abruptly. All the sombre visions she had been pressing back, fighting out of her thoughts, swarmed over the barrier and crushed her.
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