Amongst others, Mr. He loved the sea, and could give a good account of himself in any weather. 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. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips.
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