The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. She recognized him as the man who had blundered into the wrong room. ” Anna nodded. “I drink your very good health, Sir John and Lady Ferringhall,” he said, “and I wish you a pleasant journey back to England. His back was no sooner turned, than she slipped this casket into the box.
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