She turned to Lucilla, a plea in her face. ‘But the major—’ ‘The major can say nothing at all. I'll lay my life he's gone. I mean—I mean to do what I can. ‘If, in truth, you are a gentleman,’ she said in a trembling tone, ‘you will move to the side that I may leave this room. He put his arms around her in a circular embrace. And we won’t make it so. 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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