” Ramage reflected. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. . "I've done all I can to the portrait here. Jack hastily retreated, and taking the first means of concealment that occurred to him, descended the cellar steps. Sydney sprang up. ‘But I’ve known that for years. 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.
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