She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. She discovered a desire to enter as a student in the Imperial College at Westminster, where Russell taught, and go on with her work at the fountain-head. She turned on the lad with her, who was visibly relieved. Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her. He then unfolded his choice and held it before her face. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it.
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