The man’s passion was infectious. “What have you been doing since our last talk? Still cutting up rabbits and probing into things? I’ve often thought of that talk of ours—often. Not a scar but has its history. For some seconds of voluminous thinking they looked at the ring between them, and neither spoke. 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. Then she went back and mixed up the sheets in a search for particular passages. ” He nodded twice, with his eyes on the fire, as though that was a formal statement.
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