. 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. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. Here her strength completely failed her, and she was compelled to seek some repose.
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