She ignored his question. 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. Not us. She thought gleefully of the dress she would get to wear for the Ball (Prom?) and could not wait to tell her foster family about how excited she was. She wrenched her head away from his grip and got her arm between his chest and hers. Why shouldn't James Boyle pinch out a little fun while waiting? How was he to anticipate the girl and the sea-tramp called The Tigress? Something that wasn't in the play at all but had walked out of the scenery like the historical black cat? "I'll have to punish a lot of tobacco to get the kinks out of this. This also struck her as odd. “You’re so unbelievably beautiful, Lucy. And if he won’t—” But she did not give even unspoken words to the alternative at that time.
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