" "What the devil's in the wind now, Captain?" cried Blueskin, in astonishment. Smith's solitary orb followed in the same direction. I'll not speak of Jack or Jonathan. 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. The woman shrugged her shoulders.
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