So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. In vain Wood protested his innocence. She watched the captain tuck the pistol back in his pocket, and perch on the edge of the big desk. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. My dress, my person will be minutely described.
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