‘To see Charvill. She owed the nun a great deal, including her command of English, for no one else thought to ensure she could speak her mother tongue. She frowned, appearing to think for a moment. 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.
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