She had refused to eat human beings when she had first learned her fate. She could see that he was curious, so she sat upon him and they rocked back and forth. “Now you must go,” she said firmly. 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. “If you must go on with it,” said Hetty, “now’s your time.
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