” “She didn’t say she’d met any one. “I want to be your friend,” he said. 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 reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled.
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