" "I will yield it to no one but its mother," answered Wood. She married my Dad in a small ceremony down at City Hall. 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. She could tell that they too would find their legs jutting awkwardly from the petite furniture. "Old Van told me if he grew up he would be hanged. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed.
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