She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. 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. Anna said nothing. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. I shall now be able to test my skill. Wood, and you'll find that I've spoken the truth.
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