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. " "Uh-huh. It is a plain case of alcoholic stupor. " "Is Mr. He hasn't found himself, as they say. They’re just a joyous softening of the outline—more beautiful than perfection. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces.
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