"His disguise was capital; but I detected it in a moment. “We are to begin our married life to-night—here where I first met you. I wish to rise in the world, mademoiselle, and you are going to help me. 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. The air was pungent and leaden. He's as generous as he's frolicsome.
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