CHAPTER VII The astonishing collapse of Spurlock created a tableau of short duration. 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. Spurling. You mustn’t go clawing after a man that doesn’t belong to you—that isn’t even interested in you. And they pay her. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. He stared at her breasts while he touched them. He seemed wholly insensible to the rain, though it presently descended in torrents, and continued his search as ardently as before.
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