” CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH THE SAPPHIRE RING Part 1 For a time that ring set with sapphires seemed to be, after all, the satisfactory solution of Ann Veronica’s difficulties. 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. You are the woman I love, Anna. "But to drag this innocent child into the muck! With her head full of book nonsense—love stories and fairy stories! Have you any idea of the tragedy she is bound to stumble upon some day? I don't care about you. ” She had had so much time to learn the violin that she often thought to herself that she ought to be much more skilled at it. ‘Now I see that you are mad indeed.
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