‘Laisse-moi!’ Impatience swamped him. 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’s no logic in these things. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. "Oh! no—no—no," cried Winifred, "I cannot believe it. " "Ah, Jack," said Wood, shaking his head, "where there's a will there's a way.
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