Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. You notice that I have recently spent ten francs on a box of the best Russian cigarettes, and that there are roses upon my table. 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. Chapter XXI HER SISTER’S SECRET “I think,” Lady Ferringhall said, “that you are talking very foolishly.
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