His figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern. "So much the worse," replied Jonathan, rising and taking a turn, as if uncertain what to do. "You want him?" "Please!" said Ruth. He recognised this object at once. The watcher's intake of breath was sibilant. 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. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone.
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