“You permitted me then to call you my friend. MANNING,” she had begun. Beck, it smells wonderful in here. 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. Abruptly the sterner look vanished and she twinkled. Rowland's plans were quickly formed, and as quickly executed. .
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