“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. I saw him lying on the footway. ‘What?’ Roding snapped, coming quickly to tower above the window seat. Her father—man of rock—had never needed her, whereas Hoddy, even if he did not love her, would always be needing her.
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