An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical. Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse. “Yes. He was nearly wincing. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. She began by being interested in his demonstrations and his biological theory, then she was attracted by his character, and then, in a manner, she fell in love with his mind.
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