“Great, Cathy. I don’t love you. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. In the upper hall he paused to listen. I'm sure she'll let me go, though. 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. He was still flashily dressed, with much obvious jewellery and the shiniest of patent boots, but his general bearing and appearance had altered for the worse. ” There was a strange look in her face, the look of a frightened child. . She was recalling the circumstances under which she had engaged herself to Manning, and trying to understand a curious development of the quality of this relationship.
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