All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. His analytical bent saved him many times, though he was not sensitive to this. 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. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. Each time that we meet I try to kill you.
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