Why didn’t he die?” Anna sprang to her feet and walked restlessly up and down the room. I’ve been smoking cigarettes in the preparation-room and thinking this out. 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. come. There was a little pause between them, full for Ann Veronica of rapid elusive suspicions and intimations. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise.
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