Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. She was frightfully hungry. 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. ‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald.
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