If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. How Jack Sheppard got out of the Condemned Hold 310 XI. There were mysterious sounds, all of them musical. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense. It was like the grin of a fiend, and made my flesh creep on my bones.
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