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"Sammet Brothers is fly enough to do anything, Mawruss; but, the way Aaron Kronberg hates Alex Kronberg, if they was to sell Alex a single garment, y'understand, Aaron would never buy from them a dollar's worth more goods so long as he lived." "Ain't it a disgrace them two fellers is such enemies, Abe?" "Alex ain't no enemy, Mawruss," Abe said. "It's Aaron what's the enemy.
Next to Erasmus, the most important of these men was Pirkheimer of Nuremberg, to whom we have already referred. In his new as in his old contests, Luther's experiences remained such as he described them to Hartmuth of Kronberg, on his return to Wittenberg. 'All my enemies, near as they have reached me, have not hit me as hard as I have now been hit by our own people.
Now with his brain dangerously edged by the whiskey and his mind brooding intently over a series of mysterious and sinister adventures which had enlivened his summer, he rose and stealing catlike to the door, flung it suddenly back. Kronberg, his dark, thin-lipped face ashen, fell headlong into the room with a revolver in his hand.
Its dim rays fell upon dust and cobwebs, trunks and the nondescript relics of years of hoarding. There were no windows; only a skylight above clouded by the whirl of the storm. Carl seated himself upon a trunk, placed the lamp beside him and directed his guest to a point opposite. Kronberg, with dark, fascinated eyes glued upon the glittering steel in his jailer's hand, obeyed.
Kronberg has returned and I fear he's in for a spell of pneumonia." Later in the Sherrill hut, Carl ripped a board from the floor and found in the dirt beneath, a box containing a soiled cuff covered with an intricate cipher. "Odd!" said he with a curious smile as he dropped the cuff into his pocket; "it's very odd about that paper."
"Five hundred and eight dollars and forty-two cents to be exact," said Feldman, crunching a slip of paper. "Then all I got to say is," Leon declared, "I got here a certified check for eight thousand dollars which Aaron Kronberg gives me, and I would sure hold it until he secures me against your bill."
"One boy they had," Uncle Mosha said. "Shall I ever forget it? What a beautiful boy that was, Mr. Feldman a regular picture! Mrs. Gershon thinks a whole lot of that boy, too, I bet yer." "Never mind the trimmings, Kronberg," Feldman broke in. "Is the boy alive?" "That's what we're anxious to know," Mr. Jones interrupted.
Amateurish killing is a sickly sort of sport. And the danger of it! Take for instance that night when you fancied you were a motor bandit and waylaid me on the way to the farm. I was very drunk and driving madly and I nearly got you. A pretty to-do that would have been! To be killed by an amateur and you a paid professional! My! My! Kronberg, I blush for you. I really do!"
In a few hours we passed, near Elsineur, the fine old Castle of Kronberg, built in the time of Tycho Brahe, once the prison of the unfortunate Caroline Matilda, queen of Christian VII., and in the great vaults of which it is said the Danish Roland, Holger Dansk, still lives, his long white beard grown fast to a stone table.
At Kronberg, on our return, we found that Herr von Walden was off on a tour to the Italian lakes, Lutz and young Trachenfels had returned to their studies at Heidelberg, George Norman had gone home to England. All the members of our little party were dispersed except Frau von Walden. To her and to Ottilia I told the story, sitting together one afternoon over our coffee, when Nora was not with us.
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