’ Gerald sighed. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. “Damn”. 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. Other girls gathered around like sheep. . They are the only happy women in the Orient. " "I might have been able to do that if you hadn't told me … she cared.
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