And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. You mustn’t go clawing after a man that doesn’t belong to you—that isn’t even interested in you. Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. The walls of the room were lined with shelves, on which were glass jars, retorts, countless bottles and many appliances of surgical science.
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