‘Do you think I am afraid of a sword in the hand of a slip of a girl?’ For answer, Melusine lunged at him. 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 emerging from the primordial as Spurlock was declining toward it. God had never answered any of her prayers. She was fiercely and bitterly jealous. I’m the sort of dog, if you turn it out of the room it lies down on the mat at the door.
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