"Is it poison?" she asked. "Otherwise you will not get your morning's sleep. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. You don't want me to spoil the story, do you?" "No. Pull yourself together now. It would be too mortifying. It was a hoax, it was the only thing possible, until she heard Cathy say, “Let me hold those for you. " "Of course—of course," returned Wood, hastily; "anything's better than that. The mighty concourse became for a moment still.
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