’ Jack Kimble took a deep breath. . He temporized, and the girl raised her eyes once more to his. The funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day. But I mean to have them. I’ve made up my mind. 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 recalled with exasperating perplexity her clear, matter-of-fact tone as she talked about love-making being unconvincing. Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window. I got a rusty bolt cutter. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly.
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