He would raise her up once again, ply her with silks and jewels again, all of the accoutrements of the new generation: the cars, the toys, the restaurants, and the prestige. Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. “I didn’t blow up the house. I am having them to my own soirée on Monday. 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. ’ ‘A mistake, I agree. Small wonder she had learned to be self-reliant.
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