“Yes! I must! The thing is becoming a torture to me. More than this, it would serve to mitigate her own abysmal loneliness to pool it temporarily with his. 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. He did not stagger in the least. There was nothing on her face to hint of the misery that brimmed her heart this morning.
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