"God in Heaven bless you, unhappy boy!" cried. 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 breathed deeply. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times.
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