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. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. I really must leave you now. He saw that his words were falling upon dull ears. Jolly nice girl, too. “I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction of that big portal.
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