“These are the playgrounds of life. But tell her this, too. Giles's round-house. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. 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. “Why not?” he exclaimed. "If you have contrived to break out of your confinement, villain, this is the last place where you ought to show yourself.
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