“I’m not nearly so sure as you. 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. Cathy reached out and touched Lucy’s chin with her two fingers, gently commanding her attention. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. “I can’t keep away from you. Voting wouldn’t do no ‘arm to ‘er.
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