"Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you. If it wasn’t for the fear that after all—but we won’t think of that. "Not so;" answered Wild. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder. "You're not out yet, you young hound," rejoined Quilt, striving ineffectually to burst open the door.
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