Stanley pointed to the letter with a pipe he had drawn from his jacket pocket. 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. But she could not live in constant association with him without having these gaps filled. “It’s all dirt that washes off, dear, but it’s dirt. But the Ramage affair needed clearing up, of course; it was a flaw upon that project. The Return 231 II.
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