S. 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. ” “Martin, it’s a monumental achievement for any composer. You are the most beautiful, the most desirable thing I have ever met in this world. ” “And what do you think I ought to do?” “Exactly!” He lifted a paper-weight and dabbed it gently down again. The Master of the Mint.
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