The Iron Bar. But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected. \" 66 She commented as more doors slammed. I loathe this room. 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. Perhaps he had lost his loved ones and was wandering over the world seeking forgetfulness.
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