’ ‘It is well seen you are not Gérard,’ Melusine said, but thankful now that he was not. ’ ‘Remenham House,’ exclaimed Trodger, who had been watching this interchange open-mouthed. 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. The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford. A.
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