“Miss Ellicot!” Brendon echoed. Despite him, it was the beauty that she had inherited from her mother they had used to gain the betrothal, and it had not been easy. Here it is. I think he got sick of us and he disappeared not one week later. 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.
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