’ ‘You certain? She’s a thought too volatile for my money. There are a thousand questions I'd like to ask you, but I sha'n't ask them. No; she'd never go back. 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. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. The moviegoers exited the cinema in the customary daze that resulted from two hours of sensory bombardment. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. There was a young lad ahead of her.
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