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. “I must confess,” he said, “the New Woman and the New Girl intrigue me profoundly. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. "You will find her new. Jack now carefully closed the shutters, while Blueskin struck a light, with which he set fire to a candle. It will be his interest to do so. Like a petulant child he snapped. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being.
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