Ah! you have found out all about Psyche's wings by this time....

How do I know that?
And yet, why am I, in spite of my common sense--if I have any--talking to you as you, and liking you, and pitying you, if you are nothing now, and probably never were anything?
Bran! What right had you to pity him without giving your reasons in due form, as Hypatia would have done?
Forgive me, sir, however--whether you exist or not, I cannot leave that collar round your neck for these camp-wolves to convert into strong liquor.' And as he spoke, he bent down, and detached, gently enough, a magnificent necklace.
'Not for myself, I assure you.

Like Ate's golden apple, it shall go to the fairest.

Here, Bran!' And he wreathed the jewels round the neck of the mastiff, who, evidently exalted in her own eyes by the burden, leaped and barked forward again, taking, apparently as a matter of course, the road back towards Ostia, by which they had come thither from the sea.

And as he followed, careless where he went, he continued talking to himself aloud after the manner of restless self-discontented men.
....'And then man talks big about his dignity and his intellect, and his heavenly parentage, and his aspirations after the unseen, and the beautiful, and the infinite--and everything else unlike himself.