Altogether, it was the most dreadful noise he had ever heard. 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. Cathy commented, “You look very nice, Lucy. I have been sitting with him ever since. She was unusually soft and gentle in her manner to him.
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