"Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. “Don’t you understand, Nigel,” she said softly, “that it was precisely for this I have worked so hard. She moaned as his lips caressed her neck, almost to where the dress met her shoulder. Did you grow up at the Valade estates? You were born a Valade, I take it, even though your father is English. ” She stopped short. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. She further suspected that he might find a servant to dally with in the meantime, if he had not already. This lifeless appearance was heightened by the extreme sharpness of her features—especially the nose and chin,—and by the emaciation of her limbs, which was painfully distinct through her drapery.
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