Only you won’t let me exist!” Mr. 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. "Why didn't you come out when I called you, you young dog?" cried Quilt in a savage tone. ” She was altogether hysterical now. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and are illuminated. Not a word had been exchanged between the two boys on the road.
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