“Nor am I going to,” she answered, smiling. ” “Fine. ” “It isn’t nice getting there. All at once Melusine remembered Pottiswick, and the errand he had run. White Sears special-order orthopedic shoes, polyester pants, and cotton print blouses were her usual weekend attire. 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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