And she, she in her own person too, was this eternal Bios, beginning again its recurrent journey to selection and multiplication and failure or survival. ‘I do not wish to be like him, but it is entirely reasonable that it should be so. After all, it came to him suddenly as a harsh discovery that she might be in a sense regarded as grownup. ’ ‘You see, I am of them,’ she said seriously, ‘but not with them—yet. I had consecrated my life to His Work; and I took the primrose path.
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