“Then there was a motor accident only an hour or so after this ceremony, and Hill was reported to be killed. 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. “Your brother has gone?” she asked Sydney, between the courses. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. There is only Gerald to see me, after all. Wood?" "With pleasure," replied the woollen-draper. . No more. “I think we are growing sensible,” he said.
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