This fruit was McClintock's particular pride. Her dainty shoes were soiled with dust and there was a great tear in her skirt. Having drunk as much as he thought prudent, and thanked his unknown friend for his attention, Jack again lay down on the straw, and indulged himself with another nap, intending to get up as soon as it was perfectly dark. "Jack!" Her son averted his gaze. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. In her sitting-room I found Montague Hill.
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