"I've got to see him; but I'll be reasonable. At table he carved in a gloomy but resolute manner. She wondered wildly why she had stood up. I could not have spoken to her. 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. "He left Dollis Hill at ten o'clock on that night, and has not since returned.
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