"I see nothing surprising in it," rejoined Jonathan. "I'm an ungrateful dog!" "You will be if you don't instantly kiss me the way you used to. "There's Sharples," cried Quilt. 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. ‘Tell me, my boy. The faithful fellow will never leave me. To receive him here afterwards would be most repugnant to me. Wood trembled. According to what I’ve heard, you oughtn’t to be here.
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