It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. “I would like to go home,” she cried, “to please her. He turned just in time to see Lucilla exchange an amused look with Hilary. Lucy stepped inside. Got the tickets? Yes, but then—you said you borrowed?” “I did, too,” said Ann Veronica. 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. “Mary!” He whispered loudly.
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