The only persons in the Lodge were Mrs. She flew up the covered stairs and knocked upon his door. “I don’t care,” said Ann Veronica. 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. She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness.
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