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What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. Wood. The windows were small, and strongly grated, looking, in front, on Kendrick Yard, and, at the back, upon the spacious burial-ground of Saint Giles's Church. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. She hurried with Jack as fast as she could to the open door to the passage.
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