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. It was an odd room, used principally for the reception of guests and visiting dignitaries, packed from end to end with ill-assorted sofas and padded chairs. "I hardly know," returned Jack; "but it's not safe for me to remain much longer here. Also she made little pussy-like sounds of a reassuring nature. "But she is saying something to me! What is it?" The hotel manager, who spoke Cantonese with facility, interpreted. Her head ached with a hollow pain.
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