But his treasured dream lay shattered at his feet. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city. As the woollendraper's back was towards him, he did not perceive him, but continued his passionate addresses. I know nothing about the girl, save what you have told me. I am sorry to seem to hurt you, but all I say is for your good.
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