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. ’ Fury rippled again. “I thought that I heard a groan,” Anna whispered. She is no more English than that set of beggars over there. If she kept on, would she make it out of the door? Then what? He could come after her before she could reach the secret passage.
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