‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning heavily on his arm for a moment. His instinct was in the direction of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound to obey him, his to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his declining years just as he thought fit. She could feel teenage girls from all corners of the room tensing, preparing to shriek. 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. But I’m always trying to make things happen.
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