“You’re. "I understand," she said. ” “Fame!” “Isn’t it? ‘I’ve not seen your play, Mr. Perhaps, after all, the others were right. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. " "Your own was equally so," said Jackson ironically. I felt somehow I’d hurt you. Day after day for a measured hour in the lecture-theatre, with elaborate power and patience, Russell pieced together difficulty and suggestion, instance and counter-instance, in the elaborate construction of the family tree of life.
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