He seemed to stay away from her because she was so cold and formal towards him, addressing him as Mister McCloskey as if she were an Irish maid. He uttered her name and his excitement grew when he did not feel a bra. 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. He was in a curious state of desperation. She had never had a pet, never had a real doll. ’ Dieu du ciel, but she was a fool.
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