. . Annabel watched her with wide-open, terrified eyes. It'll be turning over to-morrow. Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. 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. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. Two women entered and sat down at the adjoining table. Unless he has dealings with the devil, he could never have done this alone.
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