I feel years younger, a man again. It is not well that a daughter should talk to her father as Ruth talked to hers that day. I must leave England to-night. 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. He would always be her friend, too. " "Help me through at all hazards, Poll," cried Jack, straining towards the opening.
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