The doctor sensed that his bolt had gone wrong, but he could not tell how or why. 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. He made some obvious comments on the wide view warming toward its autumnal blaze that spread itself in hill and valley, wood and village, below. The streets were full of colour. . I’ll wait my whole life!” He cried. ‘I see that Leonardo was right.
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