1. 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. It was his turn to express astonishment. . He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. ‘And for you, monsieur le major, it will be well if you do not make me a shock like this again. ” Ann Veronica’s mind was filled with confused unutterable replies. I want to put myself into your hands. .
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