He looked at her guiltily. 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 laughed. But I have remembered the horse and have asked this sergeant that a soldier fetch him. I’ve never met any one like you. ” He took them from her and read them. ToC London, at the period of this history, boasted only a single bridge.
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