Just my room. For all that she was of exceptional intellectual enterprise, she had never yet considered these things with unaverted eyes. My thanks, by the by. He did not speak for a moment. She had gained respect all about town with news of her fine marriage, and her reputation as a beauty was expanding. 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. Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject.
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