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. “I know,” she said quietly, “that Paris, where she has been so much admired, is not a good place for her. We shall never have an heir, you and I! My family is crumbling; all of my brothers are dead.
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