"Let us hope that, like her who 'loved much,' her sins are forgiven her. “Her ladyship dined at home,” the man answered. ’ ‘You see, I am of them,’ she said seriously, ‘but not with them—yet. You were pointed out to me at—a few nights ago. 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 dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped.
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