‘Oh, my God, Melusine, what have I done?’ Melusine shook her head. ‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion. He smothered a laugh. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. The highest form of knowledge was magic: the priesthood. See paragraph 1. 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.
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