There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls. 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. “Hold on, she’s right here. I shall be very sorry if I cannot have you for a friend. We’re different. ‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so.
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