His father spoke for him. Lucy had been ignoring her, not purposefully, but noticeably. It was Blueskin. 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. The man lingered. It was a different world.
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