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. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women. Hang the wench! Roding was right. Ennison stood by her side. She wanted to know.
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