"The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. Then suddenly, in front of all those windows, he folded her in his arms and pressed her to him, and kissed her unresisting face. She drew it out with shaking fingers. You will survive, mark my words. 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.
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