’ ‘Undoubtedly,’ Gerald agreed. 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. To the Seven Cities of Refuge Jack proceeded. Ruth came to him directly. But it sounds too real to be imagined. As he looked up at the massive tower, the clock tolled forth the hour of midnight.
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