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. She struggled fiercely not to give way. "Jack is just gone back to the Condemned Hold. ‘I am saying so,’ protested Gerald mildly.
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