He was asleep. In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. I love some one else. Except for the dull eyes and the extreme pallor of his face, there was nothing else to indicate that he was deep in liquor. His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest quality; they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern vocabulary, and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure and good for life. ‘Oh, you are making a game with me.
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