He had kissed his wife on the mouth … and had been horrified! There was real madness somewhere along this road. There were moments when Ann Veronica rather more than suspected the chief speakers to be, as school-boys say, showing off at her. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. —'It's all up with us,' says he; 'they've taken away our charter. Was it that the struggle of things to survive produced as a sort of necessary byproduct these intense preferences and appreciations, or was it that some mystical outer thing, some great force, drove life beautyward, even in spite of expediency, regardless of survival value and all the manifest discretions of life? She went to Capes with that riddle and put it to him very carefully and clearly, and he talked well—he always talked at some length when she took a difficulty to him—and sent her to a various literature upon the markings of butterflies, the incomprehensible elaboration and splendor of birds of Paradise and hummingbirds’ plumes, the patterning of tigers, and a leopard’s spots.
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