The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. 1. Brendon,” she said, “if I could ask for advice, or borrow money from any one, I would from you—there! But I cannot. 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.
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