Starting off at a rapid pace, Jack dashed down Turnagain-lane, skirted the eastern bank of Fleet-ditch, crossed Holborn Bridge, and began to ascend the neighbouring hill. “I feel shabby and disgraced. . . The miserable woman staggered, uttered a deep groan, and fell senseless on the straw. 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. "I am content," said Jack.
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