‘I can’t do that. ” “You have been to her?” he asked. “I fail to see the joke,” Sir John said. 6. . Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. Perhaps, after all, the others were right.
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