" He was delighted to find the office deserted. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. A rock gave way to deep water. “You did good!” She closed her eyes and rested in the moment, imagining a normal life where she would go to college, have babies with John, watch her children have children, live, and die as she had always wanted to. People were passing in the street below. Heard voices. And you need not fear that I shall not give back the sword when I have finished using it. A shy virgin bride would not press her thigh sinuously against his, nor consent indeed to this clandestine little comedy he had been playing. 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. Just as I might have killed another, if he had come out. It's so stuffy—and all that tobacco smoke!" He inspected his watch. “Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister.
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