When she slipped off of it her head started to bob, filled with air. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. I only seen her when she come with that Sister Martha. 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. You—It’s jolly of you to confide in me. White gasped, and then stiffened.
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