He was absolutely unable to focus his ideas. "All's over," muttered Jonathan. He looked down and met them. “You don’t want to go?” “No. " That was true, thought Spurlock. A curious silence ensued. 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. The lamp was spreading soot over everything and the reek of kerosene was stronger than usual. At last she glanced at a little clock in the corner of the room, and sprang to her feet.
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