‘Don’t dare call her that to my face. I am very good at guessing names. But I don’t think she lays hold of one so. It was a face that matched her body, so pure and beautiful that any man would have killed for her. There was a short, red-faced, resolute youth who inherited an authoritative attitude upon bacteriology from his father; a Japanese student of unassuming manners who drew beautifully and had an imperfect knowledge of English; and a dark, unwashed Scotchman with complicated spectacles, who would come every morning as a sort of volunteer supplementary demonstrator, look very closely at her work and her, tell her that her dissections were “fairish,” or “very fairish indeed,” or “high above the normal female standard,” hover as if for some outbreak of passionate gratitude and with admiring retrospects that made the facetted spectacles gleam like diamonds, return to his own place. From me. His brute strength surged through her veins, she could feel his energy in her heart, his life force stolen like candy from a baby. I want you.
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