And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. I saw the metal box a hundred times, but I never thought of opening it until the day I fled. 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. If he stayed in the basement apartment as was his usual habit, she would have no problem.
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