“I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. She could have dined alone in her room; but courage had demanded that she face the ordeal and have done with it. 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. “It’s—private. There is a railroad. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly.
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