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. ” “Yeah, they seem so nice. Some day she wanted to be loved as Marius loved Cosette; but there was another character which bit far more deeply into her mind. Through her door curtain she could see the light from the study lamp.
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