Spurlock looked up. 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. She didn’t choose her man. On Saturday he went to that there Mr Charvill’s house. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. Could she understand what she was talking about? Luckily it was a second-class carriage and the ordinary fellowtravellers were not there. ‘Certainly no one will find it. You cannot draw.
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