“Lucy, that’s horrible. And when, at length, it was struck, he wanted energy to pursue his advantages. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. The image did not move. . Habits and tastes are no longer the same. 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.
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