"I was," answered Sheppard. “I’m covered. Ennison too, always handsome and debonnair, seemed transported out of his calm self. 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. Where was the expected message from this captain, who had promised to send her word at the instant Gerald returned to town.
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