And now her mind was so full of the thought that she was in love—in love!—that marvellous state! that I really believe she had some dim idea of talking to him about it. She had been working upon a ribbon of microtome sections of the developing salamander, and he came to see what she had made of them. She bolted awake in the large bed which was awash in a sea of silks, furs, and red curtains. CHAPTER XVIII The doctor reached for the key and studied it sombrely. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels.
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