I shall like to think of it—whenever I feel dull. There was a very white-faced youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon. They leave them out of novels—these incompatibilities. She would rend him limb from limb like a fiend if only she could move.
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