"Is Thames returned from London?" "Not yet," replied the other; "but I expect him every minute. 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. “Is your husband here to-night?” he asked. He drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still.
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