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. According to Wu, the young man had not opened his eyes once during the afternoon. ’ ‘Must we talk of it? I’m trying to forget it. There were white men with families, a fine mission-house, and a club-house for cards and billiards. Little more’n a week. "Don't weep, my love," replied the lady, straining him still more closely to her.
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