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 I have been perfectly honest about that. He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out. Some automaton within her produced in a quite unfamiliar voice the remark, “They’re playing football. ’ ‘Ah, but there’s the little matter of your presence here,’ said Gerald on a note of apology. 4. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him.
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