Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. 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. “Why waste yourself, John?” 241 < 31 > THE CONCERT Martin Chen showed up early for the pre-concert warm-up at 5:00. O'Higgins was all that the doctor had imagined a detective to be: a bulky policeman in civilian clothes.
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