It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. ” Lady Ferringhall sat with half closed eyes and clenched teeth. The one problem was that it didn’t fly. 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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