They were so nearly alike that the difference would be due to a shaky hand. She was to see Capes to-morrow, but now, in this state of misery she had achieved, she felt assured he would turn his back upon her, take no notice of her at all. Lost, stolen, or strayed, the Young Person!. ‘We mean you no harm,’ he said reassuringly. “Young lady! Are you sure you’re of legal age to be smoking those cigarettes?” “No, I’m not of legal age. 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. Oh, you must believe me. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen.
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