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It took the relatives of the Vorsack family a few more days to file their own. They slow danced to a Bon Jovi ballad. He has no imagination, no real generosity. 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. She dropped the manuscripts and swiftly brought the coat to him, noting that a button hung loose. Wood. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. He seldom spoke, and drank with a persistence that was sinister. "The poor young man!" sighed Angelina. net Transcribers Note: Obvious typesetter errors from the original corrected in this etext.
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