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She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. Where is Sir Rowland?" "In the library, your ladyship. 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! I wish,” she said, “that people thought alike about these things.
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