She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. “Be so good as to stand away from that door at once, sir,” Brendon ordered. "Impossible!" exclaimed the widow, wildly. It arises, I think, from an over developed sense of humour. 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.
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