For a moment, Kneebone had hesitated about giving the signal to Shotbolt, but, thinking a more favourable opportunity might occur, he determined not to hazard matters by undue precipitation. She opened it and drew out a letter, and folded within it were the notes she had sent off to Ramage that day. 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 autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. The room in which she sat was a portion of the garret, assigned, as we have just stated, by Mr. Well, it had to happen somewhen.
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