“No,” she said, under her breath, “you can’t face it. " That was true, thought Spurlock. Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. . 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. Miss Klegg and the youngest girl made a vigorous attack on Miss Garvice, who had said she thought women lost something infinitely precious by mingling in the conflicts of life. I do, however. She loved him.
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