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. She touched bow to strings, playing a fifth. ’ Madame ventured a glance up at his face, and fluttered her lashes. “I suppose you could at least tune it for us if you know how to play. ’ ‘Pah! One little kiss, voilá tout.
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