\" He perked up, ready to make conversation. "Very well, Mr. “I was really interested in his stuff. ‘Well?’ he uttered between heavy breaths. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. " He smiled at her as he smiled at death, cheerfully. 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. “You are my friend,” she said, “if any one is. I want to enrich it with hangings and gladden it with verses.
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