Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance. 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. Was she interested in that young ass who was risking his bones over there in the city? They had come up on the same boat. 'He's a good fellow, and 'twill all end well'. Kneebone! you would greatly oblige me by surrendering yourself.
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