Twelve years ago! It is an awful retrospect. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. The future Mrs Roding turned bright, laughing eyes on the major. 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.
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