It appears that he was an unsuccessful admirer of the lady in question, and he admits that, under the influence of drink, he broke into her rooms, and there made a determined attempt at suicide. This intelligence, which she instantly communicated to the carpenter, drove him almost frantic. “No, no,” she cried. The fire still burned brightly. 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. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. It does sound a little horrid to talk so much about oneself and to have views. Yesterday this glorious creature had loved him; to-day she was only friendly.
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