‘Get you invited to a party where the French émigrés will be present? Nothing easier, dear boy. Only an undermaid I was then. While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. There indeed you see Monte Rosa. There was a very white-faced youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations.
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