“You’re our superstar!” Turning to her foster father, she was bear hugged again, squashing the white carnations. ’ He bowed and indicated the open door at the back of the hall. 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. It will be a little lonely sometimes,” she said, looking around at them, “and I shall miss you all, but it is the fairest for myself —and I think for you. "I wonder," said Ruth.
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