The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. He rested on one elbow. Ann Veronica had come to the Imperial College obsessed by the great figure of Russell, by the part he had played in the Darwinian controversies, and by the resolute effect of the grim-lipped, yellow, leonine face beneath the mane of silvery hair. He became ugly and monstrous, dunning her, threatening her, assailing her. There is scarcely one chance in a dozen of saving his life; there would be none at all if he were moved. "I give you all of my genius, and you say—'Get out!' I am some kind of a dog. There is the key.
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