’ There was a silence. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. Winifred's face had a thoroughly amiable look. They began to wrestle fiercely. “Annabel,” she said, “I have never asked you for your confidence. “It really seems as if we shall have to put down marigolds altogether next year,” Aunt Molly repeated three times, “and do away with marguerites. I have heard of you from my husband. It seems only yesterday that she was running down the Avenue, all hair and legs. It had been discussed in silence.
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