I arrived here with something less than five pounds in my pocket. In seconds, they faced each other before the altar. She had found the mausoleum underneath a broken monument. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. 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. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. I wasn’t.
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