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Still, his conscience was partly satisfied. “Not a bit of it,” he said; “it’s only a score in a game. “Will you help me?” he asked. 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 had grabbed her in the stream, embracing her naked body tightly, running his hands over her breasts and clutching her buttocks. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection.
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