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. It's all very well to read him a lesson, and teach him obedience; but you've gone far enough for that. The salt air was fresher than the stale air in the manor.
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