That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. 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. She was quite unconcerned.
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This video was uploaded to jandlonmark.org on 26-06-2024 16:36:56
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