His face brightened at the sight of her, and he came toward her. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. ” “What’s our lot?” asked her sister. Over these boards the two arms of a guide-post serve to direct the wayfarer—on the right hand to the neighbouring villages of Neasdon and Kingsbury, and on the left to the Edgeware Road and the healthy heights of Hampstead. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence.
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