Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. She fought him with tooth and nail. You and I. 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. In an instant, she turned on him.
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