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. Suddenly he felt Ruth swing violently away from him, and he wheeled to learn the cause. ‘You had better kill me, mademoiselle, because otherwise I shall end by strangling you. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards.
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