Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. " "That is to say, you wish you had let me die?" "That was the thought. " At the mention of the latter occurrence, a dark cloud gathered upon the stranger's brow. 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. But did Gerald trouble himself about her? No. ” Part 9 She was sitting brooding over her fire about ten o’clock that night when a sealed and registered envelope was brought up to her.
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