Immediately he grasped the fact that there was drama here, probably the old drama of the fugitive. Mrs Sindlesham raised her brows. ‘You are mad, if you think he will give you a sou. The child has sprung into a youth; the youth has become a man; the man has already begun to feel the advances of age. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. I shall borrow it and apply it to you, Hilary. 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.
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