If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. I felt—I felt living in a masked world. A dull light shone through the open window blinds and softened the room with parchment yellowness. From her stomacher, to which it was attached by a multitude of glittering steel chains, depended an immense turnip-shaped watch, in a pinchbeck case. Horrible memories of things seen beneath the microscope of the baser forms of life crawled across her mind and set her shuddering with imagined irritations.
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