His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. 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. . There was a wall; she was always encountering it; the one time she was able to break through this wall was when the part in his hair was crooked. Just as the clergyman approached the altar, she perceived a boy steal quickly into the church, and ensconce himself behind the woollen-draper, who, in order to carry on his amatory pursuits with greater convenience, and at the same time display his figure (of which he was not a little vain) to the utmost advantage, preferred a standing to a sitting posture. “I’ve been to hear you lots of times. He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed.
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