She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. 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. Wu may have news for us. I often think of those delightful evenings in Paris.
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