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. Their poor hands!” “I know,” said Mr. This was no light conquest; nor was it a government easily maintained. But they did what they could for her. .
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