Yevgeny Zamyatin — We [550]

I felt myself all plastered over by her cloying smile—the plaster that would cover the wounds about to be inflicted by the letter trembling in my hands. — Yevgeny Zamyatin, We, 550

Note

The extended metaphor of ‘plaster’ transforms well-meaning solicitude into a stifling, bodily suffocation that pre-emptively seals wounds not yet felt.