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. He felt no pain from this cowardly kick. I’m a hard young woman. If he wants you, let him get you. Ashen blonde, a shade that would never excite the cynical commentary which men applied to certain types of blondes.
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