He grabbed her hair viciously and whispered loudly into her tear-streaked face. 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. The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. She wanted to go to Cornell University to study Anthropology, that was her 183 dream. She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words.
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