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. ” She found it difficult to begin thinking, and indeed she was anything but clear what it was she had to think about. “I am sure,” she said, “that you mean to stay until you are turned out. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. I could not hear his heart beat. “But perhaps I want to confess them.
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