” “Do you drink blood?” He stood up. 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. The hansom sped through the crowded streets. They are the only happy women in the Orient. Gerald instantly took her arm and guided her back to her chair.
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