“You were never born,” he declared, “to follow the well worn roads. 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. Wanted her out of the way because he had been afraid of her, afraid of himself! He, at fifty-four! Then into this void poured a flaming anger, a blind and unreasoning anger. ‘You’re not going to kill me this time. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee.
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