I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use. Occasionally he revealed tidbits about his past after a good kill. CHAPTER I. Annabel had been here then. This won’t do. 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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