That's a most damnable lie; and when she finds out, 'tis then she will not forgive. But, suppose I've no place to lock 'em up in, how then?" Quilt looked a little perplexed. Sebastian took the prostitute and others into his bed, having rediscovered the joy of orgy, she would often not see him for several days at a time. Supposing the wire should break and her head tumble off her shoulders into the street? The whimsey caused another smile to ripple across her lips. 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. It makes no difference.
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