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. “Then there was a motor accident only an hour or so after this ceremony, and Hill was reported to be killed. ’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. . Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. She had a few acquaintances, English gentlemen, but she lived with her sister—was a lady. ” Ann Veronica closed the door quite softly and stood still. “Endless. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs.
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