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. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. Terrific yells rent the air. The soldiers! They must not find her here.
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