For all the enervating heat, he applied himself vigorously to his tasks. Later that night, after she had cleaned herself and changed her clothes, he returned. “I was able to borrow the money. He suckled at her shoulder blade as he slid her panties down. 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. She stood up before him, smiling faintly.
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