In fact, Gerald had given order to the coachman to drive out of Golden Square and then stop around the corner. And he departed, just as Wood, who had become alarmed by Thames's long absence, made his appearance with a blunderbuss in his hand. She opened it and imbibed. On the way home he was still thoughtful. ‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am. 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. “You found the cabochon? After all these years?” He asked, incredulous. Before you go I'll give you a list of books to read.
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