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Section 1. And then they disgorged. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. 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. Distress, deep-rooted, and age old. By and by he gathered enough courage to lean toward her. Marina had retired to bed, drinking wine slowly, sleeping when she was not drinking. ‘Precisely. And when I ask you why it is you do so, you have no answer. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. " She paused. ‘Get the swords!’ ‘I’ll see to him.
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