"My horses, Charcam," he said, as a servant appeared. CHAPTER XXXII. “Odd!” he remarked, rather surprisingly, after a little interval. Later, she understood his reasons; and it had now become habit. " "I never heard of anybody who could," declared McClintock. 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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