He had thought it might have that effect. 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. " "Comin'! comin'!" returned the constable, shuffling towards him. After occupying himself thus for the best part of an hour, he thought Jack must have given him the slip. "I think you're all bewitched," she cried.
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