But, say we're friends. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. I thank God for His sunlight on your face. I’m glad the old sore is assuaged. I struck him across the face, jumped out and went back by train to Paris. 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.
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