“This is a very foolish sort of entertainment. That blow made me a thief. Wood. Spurling; "however I consent. "Come, off with it, sirrah, or I'll blow out your brains, in the first place, and strip you afterwards. 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'd like to be alone now.
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