Her aunt leaped unhappily to the thought of penitence. From this night I shall pursue a different course; from this night his ruin may be dated. " "Dear mother, don't say so," returned Winifred. "Where?" "That can wait," she answered. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair. ” Lucy spoke up, “We used to call that ‘playing the coquette’. The devil is on top, not below. 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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