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. And afterward her mother and Alice kissed long and clung to each other. I decline to waste a single second even in considering the ugly ones. I have always had a secret crush on him, to be honest with you.
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