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. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. That is what marriage is to most young women: the ultimate escape from the family, from the unwritten laws that govern children. News was sent back home, and in October, Marina traveled to Florence to live with her daughter again. . He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. Her situation was perplexing her very much, and the Widgett atmosphere was lax and sympathetic, and provocative of discussion.
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