“You will not even answer my letters. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. She wanted to kiss his feet. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. " "Ay, and there's my liver. Play foul, and win. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. Would she ever find it? Sighing, she opened the door to the next room, and drew back the drapes. The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed.
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