Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. "I'm sorry, Mr. “I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. " "Aye, music hits them. It took my breath away. Was it that the struggle of things to survive produced as a sort of necessary byproduct these intense preferences and appreciations, or was it that some mystical outer thing, some great force, drove life beautyward, even in spite of expediency, regardless of survival value and all the manifest discretions of life? She went to Capes with that riddle and put it to him very carefully and clearly, and he talked well—he always talked at some length when she took a difficulty to him—and sent her to a various literature upon the markings of butterflies, the incomprehensible elaboration and splendor of birds of Paradise and hummingbirds’ plumes, the patterning of tigers, and a leopard’s spots. "I believe I'll tear them up.
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