When the paroxysm passed, he was forced to lean against the window-jamb for support. I will marry you when Sir John gets his divorce, and I will do all I can to keep you out of harm. 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.
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