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. But let that verse tell my secret. She relented out of exhaustion, yet he would not let her near Marina, his embrace tightening. He looked at her, his eyes filled with excited terror and astonishment at her move.
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