He winced from the wasp-like sting. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. E. He had set out to win her, and she had let him start. In you—if you can love me—there is salvation. Then making a pretence of stooping to rearrange her flowing train, she glanced at Anna, and half stopped in her progress down the room.
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