He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers. I can’t tell anyone certain things about my life. She saw now that it was not a dissipated face; it was as smooth and unlined as polished marble, which at present it resembled. I give you the plain, unadulterated truth. She found herself asking more and more curiously, “Why, on the principle of the survival of the fittest, have I any sense of beauty at all?” That enabled her to go on thinking about beauty when it seemed to her right that she should be thinking about biology.
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