As he pocketed it, her open palm reached out and slapped his cheek. Tea in the laboratory was a sort of suffragette reception. 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. It was something that would create a mutual claim, a relationship. But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. ’ Still no response. ‘Me, I have a name.
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