To get behind that impenetrable curtain, to learn why she hated her island. "Hear me," he cried, restraining himself with difficulty. 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. Wood. "Where?" "That can wait," she answered. I wanted something alive.
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