Now, will you do me the honour of lunching with me, Miss Pellissier?” Anna hesitated. An ill-lined purse is a poor recompense for the risk I have run. 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. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. In regard to yourself, you've had a very narrow escape. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy.
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