Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre. . . ” “No,” he said, and tried again: “but I must tell you quite definitely that I feel it to be my duty to forbid any such exploit. . ” Anna read, and her cheeks grew slowly scarlet. He grabbed her legs and threw the covers from the bed. 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. It’s just that I want to say. But still she knew they were not right, and at times they became a horrible obsession as of something waiting for her round the corner.
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