This is grace I am saying! Oh! my dear! all the joy and weeping of life are mixed in me now and all the gratitude. “Don’t be childish, Annabel. It isn't as if he were stricken with typhoid or pneumonia or something like that. 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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