"Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. ‘Oh, you are making a game with me. On Tuesday night, she was rather better, and I had left her for a short time, as I thought, asleep on the sofa in the little parlour of which she is so fond —" "Well," exclaimed Jack. Beethoven; he’s the best of them. One night she apparently fell asleep. He then descended; and having induced Bess to take off some part of her clothing, he tore the gown and petticoat into shreds and twisted them into a sort of rope which he fastened to the lower bars of the window. ” She shook her head, snapping out of her reverie.
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