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. All right. Did the other girls thank you?” “Not really. "But, I say, that girl is a queer one. “Only it is much too late for you to be out alone. In each pause she could sense his growing trepidation. " "I do not doubt it," returned Jack; "none but those who have experienced it can understand the miseries of imprisonment. .
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