She brought the cups of cocoa back to the bedroom. Wood," observed Jackson, in a slightly-sarcastic tone. 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. Nothing to do; nothing for the hands, the mind, the heart. "Your uncle must protect you. Or become a thorough-going typist and stenographer and secretarial expert. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. “What has he to do with it?” “He was your sister’s master—her friend. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. It’s time she knew. The doctor had not heard from his people. She resumed her on guard position, and glaring steadily at him, waited again. Gerald looked at it, then at her face. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame.
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