At the bottom of her heart she was not a bit afraid of Ramage. “I liked him, and I never undeceived him. . ‘Parbleu,’ said Gerald. For my own part, I don't see in what way it is to be accomplished, except by the payment of our customary fees. 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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