I had left Paris. “Why?” “I still love you. There’s no logic in these things. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. And don't worry about the six thousand, Hoddy. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf.
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