He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby. I think a wife a needless incumbrance, and mean to die a bachelor. “Ask me nothing. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. He was beautiful and perfect, his blue eyes smiling at her. A woman indeed this to love and be loved, beautiful, graceful, gay. I’ve muddled all this business. ’ Fury rippled again. My nerves were in rags.
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