"Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. But I don't look for peace on this side the grave. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. The soldiers! They must not find her here. His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest quality; they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern vocabulary, and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure and good for life. Wood caught hold of Jack's leg, and dragged him off the bench.
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