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. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had. For she needed him. ’ Authority had won again, Gerald thought with satisfaction. Yet even now there were so many things untouched, so much to be learned. ’ Fire enveloped Charvill’s mind and he brought up his cane, pointed like a musket.
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