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Montressor’s guests. ‘Of course the fellow has doubtless stayed put to wait for you,’ retorted Hilary. 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. It looked very patient, she thought, and a little self-satisfied. He held her eyes. "It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets. “Lucy, you have to play for us after dinner, oh please. “I wonder if you give me a thought. “But it makes me feel inhuman,” he added. “You killed them, didn’t you?” He said.
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