“I don’t think our engagement can go on,” she plunged, and felt exactly that loss of breath that comes with a dive into icy water. 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 wretch you confide in has sworn to hang you. She felt that with Capes near to her she would be content always to go on loving. She moaned as she touched him.
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