"You will spare the officers a labour then," rejoined Jonathan. I was forced to lay on a bed of nails for three days. But I had to know for sure. 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. I was always told my mother died the day I was born. “I regret that you should ever have proposed it,” he went on. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. ‘He is not in England, you understand.
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