No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. 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. There are times when you make me feel a little thing at your feet—a young, silly, protected thing. CHAPTER THE THIRD THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS Part 1 Two days after came the day of the Crisis, the day of the Fadden Dance. .
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