Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. 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. " "My coat, please. Sheppard. So this was what it was all about. Why should WE hoard? We aren’t going out presently, like Japanese lanterns in a gale. She was trying to bring her problems to a head, and her mind insisted upon being even more discursive and atmospheric than usual.
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