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. They negotiated several steps, and then the stair turned a corner. She passed him silently as she dropped Michelle’s dried corpse into the open clay pit awkwardly, like a discarded doll. But in this posture he fared worse than ever. As soon as the latter beheld him, she uttered a loud scream, and fainted.
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