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. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. You know—if you want freedom. ’ So saying, he pulled her forward, slipping her arms about his back. I'm a stickler about clothes and clean chins. He might miss at this distance.
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