Sheila grabbed the gun and laughed hysterically, brandishing the weapon and baying like a bear. It was something that would create a mutual claim, a relationship. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. It wasn’t anything splendid, you know. “Your mother was a Gypsy. This was his sister, evidently in the last extremity. Wood was dressed with more than ordinary care, and in more than ordinary finery. ‘That there governess didn’t like it, of course, me being the lodgekeeper’s girl, and Martha just a country wench like me.
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