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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. "We shall be obliged to force it. "Jack," said Wild, with a glance of malignant triumph, "I will now tell you what I have done. " "No doubt," rejoined Wild, with a sneer; "but don't let all the world know it.
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