” She set the letter down, and drew from her pocket another with a foreign post mark which had come the day before. Romance! The romance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words to the far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelled ships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books! She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the books to her heart. She listened, listened intently for several minutes. But not so much a pig as that man. I’ve never had these crying fits before. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. A cup of lies. I'll have a peep at him, if I die for it," she muttered, as she went out. "More than you'll pay for it, friend," snuffled the Jew.
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