” “Excuse me,” Mr. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. "I will bear the body. Wasn’t easy, I can tell you. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. Indeed, I've heard him say that, but for his wife, he would shelter her under his own roof. 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. ‘But do you not see that he will come again? I think it is better if you, both of you, go and leave me here to find—’ She broke off, looking away.
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