There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. I'm burning up. She padded up the stairs to the bedroom, finding that her sheets had been changed with a fresh pillow case to welcome her weary head. Now you will learn the result. Melusine’s heart jumped and she felt heat rising into her cheeks. 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. "To him I owe everything," continued the widow, "life itself—nay, more than life,—for without his assistance I should have perished, body and soul.
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