"Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. He worried me to marry him. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said. Lucy sat paralyzed, as still as Tiger Lily on the death raft. ’ Quick anger flared, surpassing the fluttering hope. ” He stood before her, his hat in his hand, his head bent, his voice lowered to a convenient pitch. She must learn wisdom—as God pleases.
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