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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. V. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. 59 He was not present during the night the next morning, or the next, or the next. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. Of all the amazing coincidences. “The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed.
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