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. “Of course,” said Miss Miniver—she went on in a regularly undulating voice —“we DO please men. Sheppard, again arresting his departure. . She counted three on the way to the train and four more on the crowded car that would have gladly taken him to bed with not so much as a word.
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