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. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. " "Mad as you are, you're the more sensible of the two, I must say," rejoined Jonathan.
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