They're only just gone, mercy on us! what a clatter," she added, as the knocking was repeated more violently than before. ” “Why did you tell me? I thought—I thought we were going to be friends. 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.
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