‘Your niece, ma’am. Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, preoccupied, almost depressed figure. ” “By God!” said Manning, making the most of the word, “I suppose it’s fate. It is Thérèse. She turned and looked at the red LED of the alarm clock that read 3:55. He caught the smirk. 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. Wasn’t it—a little bit of a scene?” “Oh! let me see. ” He saw her into the train at Waterloo, and stood, a tall, grave figure, with hat upraised, as the carriage moved forward slowly and hid him.
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