Then perhaps I shall send for him if he has not forgotten. I examined the Condemned Hold myself carefully this morning, and didn't find a nail out of its place. 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. She was chic, distinguished, unusual. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries. I don’t understand the workings of a gentleman’s mind. And it filled seven sheets of notepaper, each written only on one side.
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