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. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use. "The ceiling is breaking! the floor is opening! he is coming to me!" cried the unhappy woman.
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