"When is he to suffer?" she demanded, fixing her large black eyes, which burnt with an insane gleam, upon him. The hard work will be his, until we yank this young fellow back from the brink. " Mrs. 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. Winifred's face had a thoroughly amiable look.
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