“What else can happen?” asked Miss Miniver, with a little weak gesture at the glow. She opened and read it at once. 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. “I hope you’re satisfied. “You are coming in, aren’t you, Sydney?” “If I may,” he answered. She could smell the savory tinge of his sweat in the air. ‘Like you?’ ‘But I am not French.
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