Unlocking it, he entered the chamber, which by no means belied its external appearance. 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. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. "Tell me frankly, and speak under your breath. “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying.
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