If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. It isn’t law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that. \"Great!\" I'll drive you. I’ve been thinking, you know—I’m not sure that primarily the perception of beauty isn’t just intensity of feeling free from pain; intensity of perception without any tissue destruction. For was not Gerald a gentleman? An Englishman, whose services any female—excluding her own self so idiote— would be very happy to have. "Who's that queer cove in the full-bottomed wig?" "Attend to me, sirrah," rejoined Wild, sternly.
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