Here he was hotly pursued. 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. Here was a hole as wide as a church-door. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew.
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