I love you—unendurably. Besides," she added, blushing yet more deeply, "it isn't a proper one to talk upon. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. 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. " "As like as life, Sir," observed Austin, peeping over Thornhill's shoulder at the portrait.
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