Suddenly she had become afraid. Then her fingers moved. “It’s just that he doesn’t seem like your type. One could go to him and tell him one loved him. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. 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. "To the world's end," answered Jack, darting after him.
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