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. ” Lucy sat patiently as she was improved. He had become an extremely handsome man, his hair having darkened and his shoulders having realized their full size. ” She gave herself permission now to look at this squarely.
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