‘And me, I am a lady. . 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 waited for her at the back. ‘Do you think I could endure to hear you prattling your abominable French in my ear day by day? Enough to drive me straight into my grave. She could feel Martin’s eyes boring into her as she entered the room, her own personal Farhat. He would know her address to-morrow.
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