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. To win the contest meant you would be chosen to apprentice in magic as a priest under her tutelage. A strong coarse man, and there were things in his eyes which made my blood run cold with terror. She turned back into the hall.
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