" "Then, most probably, it was the widow Sheppard," answered Blueskin, sulkily. "Poor thing!" muttered he, as the widow departed on her errand, "she's seen better days and better circumstances than she'll ever see again, I'm sure. Moments, indeed! We like each other fresh and fresh. ’ ‘Mercy me,’ gasped the nun. The hansom sped through the crowded streets. "So much the worse," replied Jonathan, rising and taking a turn, as if uncertain what to do. 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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