"When I went through your trunk that first night, I discovered an envelope filled with manuscripts. I’ve had enough of it. For a few days he was able to relegate his conscience to the background. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London. “I wonder,” he said, “is there anything we could do to help you to get rid of him?” “Can you think of anything?” Anna answered. She felt a lump rise in her throat, for she had come to love living in America. 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.
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