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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. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. I had no idea even that she was a friend of yours. It was obviously pitched well, hitting her head at a good thirtyfive miles per hour. We'll get together this afternoon; and you can pretend that I am your father. - You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
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