He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty. 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. He had very nearly cleared the board, when a knock was heard below, and descending at the summons, he found his two janizaries. “Believe what, Michelle?” Lucy asked. “I’ve got—I have to tell you this to make myself clear—a streak of ardent animal in my composition.
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