A nurse was at the other end of the room. 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. A faint anticipation of triumph showed in his manner and a subdued excitement. ‘Nothing. Madame Valade was that kind of woman. Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke.
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