Melusine had confessed this morning, that she had borrowed his horse, that Jack had met with his accident through her fault. But he looked back into the hall and spoke to the sergeant who could just be seen behind him. ‘But I have told you. He had now reached the adjoining house, and, scaling the roof, approached another building, which seemed to be, at least, one story loftier than its neighbours. 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. They crossed the Park to the westward, and then turned back and walked round the circle about the Royal Botanical Gardens and then southwardly toward Waterloo.
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