Her tone was hoarse with passion. Earles closed the piano with a little bang. He lowered himself onto her and entered her slowly, an inch at a time. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. 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. From the point of view of most things in the world of employment which a woman can do reasonably well and earn a living by, you’re unripe and half-educated. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support.
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