" "We shall expect you to-morrow," insinuated Mrs. “Go on!” “You know—in Paris they coupled my name with some one’s—an Englishman’s. 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 should be sorry to persuade him to do anything his calmer judgment might disapprove. ” “We’ve come past it, miss,” the man answered, with a note of finality in his gruff voice.
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