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. "You are my prisoner, Jack. He was therefore obliged to use the iron bar, which he did with as much caution as circumstances would permit. The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. “For me there is no second turn. ‘Thought you were going to break in here,’ he said, in an impatient whisper. I am so much obliged to you for your projected benevolence.
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