A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. “Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek. 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.
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