’ Gerald grinned. We shall have him on his return. And for me there is only one treasure-house. 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. I felt—I felt living in a masked world. ’ ‘You are perfectly correct,’ agreed Gerald at once.
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