He was vaguely uneasy; he knew not what about. A maidservant held the front door open. Ruth shivered; she was cold. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. Could she understand what she was talking about? Luckily it was a second-class carriage and the ordinary fellowtravellers were not there. But how to avail himself of it was the question, for in his present garb he was sure to be recognised. ” “Possibly—bit by bit.
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