Her father and her husband, who had both been a little pale at their first encounter, were growing now just faintly flushed. . Why did he care? “I could never marry a girl who’s not a virgin. Ann Veronica wiped a scalpel, put a card over a watch-glass containing thin shreds of embryonic guinea-pig swimming in mauve stain, and dismantled her microscope. Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs. 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’m afraid you are right.
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