"Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. It wouldn’t be you. But," said the fellow, with a laugh, "he soon contrived to make his way out on it, though. ’ ‘Have no fear. E.
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