CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH THE COLLAPSE OF THE PENITENT Part 1 Spring had held back that year until the dawn of May, and then spring and summer came with a rush together. 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. Then, her body still tense with the atoms of anger, she sat down upon the edge of the bed and rocked from side to side. “So tell me what happened, all of it! I saw roses!” Shari exclaimed. “That’s HIM,” said Ann Veronica, in sound, idiomatic English.
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