She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. 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. Chapter Seven ‘Oh, my God,’ burst from Gerald. Sebastian was gone and another doctor came to bleed her, to rid her of the black humors that were causing the plague.
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