"What is your name? Have you a soul? Can you love?" he demanded of her in a great, rhapsodic rush as she rose up out of her curtsey. When she heard that, her heart lifted and sang. She batted her lashes at him, beaming, exuberant, newly armed. Now she looked big enough to crack the roof of the god-hut, all wild hair and feathers and triumphant breasts and blue eyes the size of dinner plates.
"That's the way to start the interview!" she cried. "Get out your pencil and we'll begin!"
Full circle. Damn, this is such a good book. I'm sad to see it end.