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. He rose deliberately to his feet and confronted them. ” She laughed. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos. From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly.
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