She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. You foolish girl!” Ann Veronica took that in silence. She found herself asking more and more curiously, “Why, on the principle of the survival of the fittest, have I any sense of beauty at all?” That enabled her to go on thinking about beauty when it seemed to her right that she should be thinking about biology. The room was intimate and wonderful to her with its shadows now cast over the girlish menagerie of stuffed animals.
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