It will be a little lonely sometimes,” she said, looking around at them, “and I shall miss you all, but it is the fairest for myself —and I think for you. I know the Dutch. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. My will is executed, and placed in safe custody. 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. My feelings overpower me. Don’t ask me how. If I'd not gone mad, they would have hanged me. She came quickly into the little parlour, which now seemed inordinately crowded, and coming up to Melusine, seized her hands in a warm clasp.
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