" "And why not, old saltwater?" inquired Ben, turning a quid in his mouth. You need have no apprehensions about him, Sir Rowland. 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. Even there a woman never gets a fair chance. ‘So I shall do so.
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