To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex.
He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position.
And yet there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable memory.
companion. One night—it was on the twentieth of March, 1888—I was
Note: this passage provides a date reference...