One night, she drew close to him in bed, trying to warm herself by embracing his back. "No Blueskin, I perceive, Sir," he observed, in a deferential tone, as Wild entered the Lodge. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. “It really is not necessary.
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