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. ‘I can see why you lost your place, young Kimble. He was all alone, too. He did not stagger in the least. Her glasses moved quickly as her glance travelled from face to face.
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