The latter haughtily returned his salutation, and flung himself, as if exhausted, into a chair. \" They talked until midnight most nights. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. ‘I begin to ask myself why it is that I wish to become of these people.
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