It was Blueskin. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. “I can only be a few years older than you, and I have been married four years. “Yes,” he said, “I shall come. The windows of these rooms were obscured with draperies, their floors a carpet patchwork; the china ornaments on their mantels were of a class apart. “Annabel!” He looked at her thoughtfully. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. A moment before, the surface of the stream was black as ink.
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