He was looking pale and ill. "Who's that queer cove in the full-bottomed wig?" "Attend to me, sirrah," rejoined Wild, sternly. 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. \"Sorry. " Neither spinster noticed the reluctance in the tones. Get on with it, then. However, that’s over and done with.
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