"You will make me the happiest of mankind," cried the woollen-draper, falling on his knees, and seizing her hand, which he devoured with kisses. These petals! I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my petals. With nobody who cares … the both of us!" He was real in this moment. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. He thought, too, of the fretful invalid who lay in the next room to his, whose money had created his business and made his position in the world.
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