Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other. On the stranger's appearance, she was seated near the window busily occupied with her needle. She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face. The biological laboratory, perpetually viewing life as pairing and breeding and selection, and again pairing and breeding, seemed only a translated generalization of that assertion.
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