‘Well, we’ll just go on up and have a look at this here passage, missie, shall we?’ ‘Have I not been saying so?’ snapped Melusine, exasperated. Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. 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. “They have all been trying to turn my head. Depend upon it, there is a place for you—waiting. ‘Dieu du ciel, but answer me!’ Martha’s eyes were swimming again, and she reached out. Anna glanced into her sister’s face, and rose to her feet. I have but to give a hint of that boy's existence in the proper quarter, and his life will not be worth a day's purchase. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford.
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