Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. “You cannot! Oh, you cannot. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. The change in her face was not a pleasant one.
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