If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. The huge, newly remodeled brick house was crammed full of people reeking of beer, vodka, and tequila. For it was not a good thing to like one man too much when one was going to marry another. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. ‘But tell me this instead. They exchanged greetings with the clarinetist. Something is feeding upon them.
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