He returned the locket without comment. Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse. And all the third act is love-sick music. 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. “You seem to have cultivated quite a jaunty appearance, and you certainly look years younger.
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