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. This had well nigh been the case with the carpenter. "Ah!" she screamed, seeing the uplifted weapon in Sheppard's hand, "don't hurt Thames—don't, dear Jack! If you want to kill somebody, kill me, not him. Be so good as to let me pass, sir,” she added, looking her obstructor steadily in the face. and Mrs. ‘Precisely,’ agreed Gerald. Wood. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow.
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