“I believe,” he said stiffly, “that these are the apartments of Miss Pellissier. I have a weapon—a knife—and if you attempt to open the door, will plunge it to my heart. Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. I must leave England to-night.
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