‘Either you tell me why you want the wretched animal, or it stays here. 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. She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk.
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