What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. 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. Traci was the most grateful, because he stopped his sexual advances. Her attenuated arms were crossed upon her breast; and her black brows and eyelashes contrasted fearfully with the livid whiteness of her skin. There was a great splash of blood upon it, her hand was all wet and sticky. His lips parted in a rare smile.
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