Mr. “I want to speak to you about a little thing, Vee,” said Mr. 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. Oh the back of her arm she found the faintest down of hair in the world. She’s very special. He told her something about music, the great world outside. She looked at it with a little shudder, but she made no motion to take it. ” She looked at him with uplifted eyebrows—a look of whimsical incredulity.
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