‘It is not for myself, you understand,’ pursued the man, in an unctuous tone that sickened the general, ‘but for this poor one. But I may yet live to thwart them. " The doctor was forced to admit the truth of this. This is your moment. All human food tasted equally dead and loathsome to her, whether it was prime steak or cheap hamburger. Her likeness to her sister gave him at first almost a shock; a moment afterwards he was conscious of a wonderful sense of relief. He was never drunk in the accepted meaning of the word; rather he walked in a kind of stupefaction. 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.
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