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. I'm neither an infidel nor an agnostic, so I'll content myself by saying that the hand of God is in this somewhere. Then before she could say a word to arrest him he was at her side.
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