She looked in the glass over and over as she checked for lint and makeup streaks. “To the best of my belief, I have never seen the man in my life. 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 was confined in the Middle Stone Ward, a spacious apartment, with good light and air, situated over the gateway on the western side, and allotted to him, not for his own convenience, but for that of the keepers, who, if he had been placed in a gloomier or more incommodious dungeon, would have necessarily had to share it with him. . How can you say such things? You’re too young to be married, and realize this: you’re not ready. Already she missed all of her fine things, her linens and leather bound books. Very slowly, very fearfully, she turned her head.
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