‘Be quiet, man,’ snapped Hilary, watching the Frenchman go by with the lad after him. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. 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. “Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs.
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