Clotilde rushed out of the house, carrying her boy and tugging her girl by the ear. 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. "I can't tell you!" she replied, blushing deeply, and clinching her little hand as tightly as possible; "it's a secret!" "I'll soon find it out, then," he returned, playfully forcing the paper from her grasp. “I think she would,” she decided. You understand. "Here we part,—perhaps for ever. "Be silent," said Jonathan, in a menacing whisper.
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