Her head dipped deeply into the current, and she narrowly escaped being swamped. 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 wonder what men would say if we threw the mask aside—if we really told them what WE thought of them, really showed them what WE were. God must love me, for he has guided me here. The man lingered.
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