He talked in the same style, and pretty nearly in the same language; laughed in the same manner, and coughed, or sneezed at the same time. At any rate, it would be good to hear him saying the sort of things he did—perhaps now she would grasp them better—with this world-shaking secret brandishing itself about inside her head within a yard of him. You were very good. And rather unscrupulous. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. . Anna picked up an ancient magazine, and began to turn over the pages in a leisurely way. “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.
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