“Why should it matter?” he said. ” They went on for a time without another word. And Mother trusted him. ” He looked at her, his eyes illuminated by the glow of the dashboard. 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. “Gods!” cried Ann Veronica, and kept him standing. " "Oh God!" exclaimed Jack, paralysed by her cries.
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