. I pity her from the bottom of my heart. Indeed, if he had been ignorant of it, the sound of voices which he could faintly distinguish, would have served as a caution to him. 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. They would be partners only in loneliness. Her specialty is the central thing in life, it is life itself, the warmth of life, sex—and love.
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