"'Tis a cruel thing you've done, lad. ’ ‘For shame, Hilary,’ admonished his fiancée, casting a pitying glance at the refugees. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. 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. She made a quick movement, and the hand fell away. There used to be an after deckhouse and a shallow well for the wheel; but I changed that. “Please forgive me—for one moment,” she sobbed. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once.
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