" The attendant did not understand him. Stanley. 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. “I will put the question,” Drummond said gravely. Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. What about them?” He called a hansom.
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