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. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. But to-day he did not get beyond half a dozen desultory start-offs. “I’m not a good woman. But a man is a mixed creature. He seemed so clean anyway, his fair 215 skin, his light brown hair, there almost seemed to be no point. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. “I did everything I could to save your baby, Lucia, I have the medical knowledge to cure almost anything, but the Pestilence struck you too fast.
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