" As he said this, in a low and mournful, but firm voice, the tears gathered thickly in Winifred's dark eyelashes. Nobody who cared. 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. It's gin—a liquor you used to like. Sheila had dropped glaring hints that she knew, which Chuck tacitly acknowledged with a lowered gaze. “They’d better not,” said Hetty.
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