“And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. “I thought you were coming right across the Park. As he pocketed it, her open palm reached out and slapped his cheek. Not much to his surprise, Jack Kimble shook his head. 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. “I don’t know. A wild passion of shame and self-disgust swept over her.
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