“It really seems as if we shall have to put down marigolds altogether next year,” Aunt Molly repeated three times, “and do away with marguerites. . She knew that I cared for her, she had admitted that she cared for me. How does one get work? She walked along the Strand and across Trafalgar Square, and by the Haymarket to Piccadilly, and so through dignified squares and palatial alleys to Oxford Street; and her mind was divided between a speculative treatment of employment on the one hand, and breezes—zephyr breezes—of the keenest appreciation for London, on the other. ‘Don’t put me at the necessity of marrying the abominable little wretch. ‘Hilary!’ The captain appeared, alert at the note in his major’s voice as Gerald had known he would be.
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