The noise was raucous. As for my past, Michelle, and Michael’s, it is a book of woeful chapters better left unread. His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears. But to choose this of all moments. This done, she waited at the side of the bed; but he gave no sign that he was conscious of her nearness. Predictably, Charvill turned on him. She was consumed by misery and hate. 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. Get out your pad and pencil. .
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