You are a detective?" "Yes. "I can't hold it much longer—it'll break my wrist. 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. Published by Elizabeth Bailey 2012 www.
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