” For a moment Mr. A woman may choose any one for her lover, but for her friend she makes no mistake. “You ARE a female thing at bottom,” he admitted. 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. Blackness was beginning to consume the cornfield. S. Sometimes I think you would have been much better off if you had been born in death-worshipping Egypt instead of in the Fourteenth Century. But I’m generously ignorant of gems.
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