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. Pilgrim's Progress, The Life of Martin Luther and Alice in Wonderland (the only fairy-story she had been permitted to read) were the sum total of her library. The air became hot and swollen with June humidity. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. “Because I hate you!” She spat. "Aha!" exclaimed Jack, with a roguish wink, "I've caught you,—have I?" The carpenter's daughter was fair and free— Fair, and fickle, and false, was she! She slighted the journeyman, (meaning me!) And smiled on a gallant of high degree. But this revulsion was engulfed by the succeeding waves of pity and understanding.
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