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. “I don’t see what he has to do with my coming to London?” “He—he worships the ground you tread on. "How?" cried her brother, starting. To have you is all important. The girl’s eyes never left his face. “I think,” she said, “that I would rather not have anything to say about that man.
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