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‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. “Have you not heard?” she said. But never would any so dishonour himself as to hand a fellow rogue over to the authorities. 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. She was greatly heartened by doing this. Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench.
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