At second hand it would be unendurable. 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. Was he planning on spending more time with her once in the country? The streets choked with beggars and the dying. We have so much to be thankful for. ” Ann Veronica read this letter through with grave, attentive eyes. Look at it, I say.
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