Mrs. "Now, Mr. 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. Upon leaning back, he commented, “You look so sad. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. Jack was lying so still, for a moment she panicked. . She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. ” “Of course not,” Anna said. Teenage boys never change, she thought to herself. Put him in the stocks, and there let him sleep off his drunken fit. What would he come as? Presently she roused herself with a guilty start from the task of dressing and re-dressing Mr.
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