And then all her restlessness was turned to joy. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. ‘See that writing table? Go and look in the drawer there. “There’s the classes,” said Constance, the well-informed. Hers was beauty on a large scale no doubt; but it was beauty, nevertheless: and the carpenter thought her eyes as bright, her complexion as blooming, and her figure (if a little more buxom) quite as captivating as when he led her to the altar some twenty years ago. “I SAY!” said Mr.
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