Cursing under his breath, Gerald moved swiftly across and dragged her away. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. The Law was around the corner and down the narrow hall, puffing a Virginia Slims Menthol in frantic sips, teetering uncomfortably out of an emergency exit door. “It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests. He and her father shook hands manfully. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. ‘Tee-ree-sa. I could see his little animal brain churning away, inventing plans for me, formulating his revenge. “And some of them quite pretty and well dressed. “You’d have to think how to get in between his bones.
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