Nestled within the tarmac lasso around London formed by the M25 motorway but feeling very far in time and space from the city, Charles Darwin’s home, Down House, has a spooky quality: it feels like he just popped out. His office is strewn with correspondence and open books, specimens of insects and fossils; his chair, fitted with castors so he could roll around like a Dalek collecting things, still seems to retain the impression of his body. A w…
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