“What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. Michelle’s eyes darted around, she refused to look straight at Lucy. She gained her room, and slammed her door and locked it as though she feared violence and pursuit. 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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