" CHAPTER IX. Walking to the station with him. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. “I think that you are very dense. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice. She found herself trying on the baubles he brought home, placing the silver rings upon her slim fingers, knowing that he would take up her hand and kiss it.
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