She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. ” An immense gulf seemed to open between father and daughter as he said these words. “Oh, there’s no doubt of it! Since the girls of the eighties broke bounds and sailed away on bicycles—my young days go back to the very beginnings of that —it’s been one triumphant relaxation.
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