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 she threw the volume away with a little impatient exclamation. ” “It was behind the Place de Vendome, on the other side from the Ritz. A dull light shone through the open window blinds and softened the room with parchment yellowness. “What do you mean, hanging round with my wife?” he answered fiercely. But you belong to me—and I want you. “Very sexy.
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