Deep silences came between them. ” “Of course you can. His father and mother are gone now. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. “You go home,” he said, at parting; “you go home. And now you must go back, take up your work and think all this over. Besides, she will do no such thing. ‘And me?’ ‘Oh, you’re mad because you wish to blow off my head. I must go perhaps in all the rooms. He grunted, and his grip gave. ” She laughed. 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. ‘Would you have me face my maker with that on my conscience? If I’d died, there’d have been no one to tell you, for your father would not have done. They are arbitrary and unjust and dogmatic and brutish and lustful. ” She said, searching for her brassiere under his bed.
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