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. Upon my word, Anna,” she declared, with a strange little laugh, “you are a thousand times more like me as I was two months ago than I am myself. “But for you Dad would never have let me marry Lescelles. Rummage, my boy, do. "No, I don't. Never mind, I’ve got plenty.
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