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. You cannot arrest yourself. She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. Her fingers found the lump she sought and, with a little effort, she dragged out the black-wrapped foil. But, rather than be the cause of any further misunderstanding between you and my benefactor, I will leave London and its neighbourhood for ever. “To the best of my belief,” she said, with quiet dignity, “I have never seen either of you before in my life.
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