“There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. 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. He hadn't followed this angle of thought in ten years: what he might have been, with a little shrewd selfishness. She seemed to have no idea whatever of the emotional states that were becoming to her age and position. He knocked on the doorframe. ‘Gammon. But as the students sat about Miss Garvice’s tea-pot and drank tea or smoked cigarettes, the talk got away from Capes. There never is much left for me. Now I’ll tell you what I propose.
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