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When Kitty Waring crossed the Hof Garten, even that old woman who years and years ago sold little Heinrich Heine plums would point out the girl to her contemporary the venerable under-gardener. "HÃ¥bsch" the old woman would growl. "Aber leichtsinnig leichtsinnig," the old man would add, for he was a misogynist.
But Kitty was not quite leichtsinnig, although she did stroll through the garden sometimes with Fritz Goebel, sometimes with Otho Weiss, sometimes with her fellow-countryman Joe Buckley. They were all young, all painters, all poor. Who cared what they did? What if they sat on a beach under a linden-tree and played cat's-cradle like children?
and the opening words of Hamlet's soliloquy with the German: "Sein oder Nichtsein, das ist hier die Frage." Of the former pair he greatly preferred the English, of the latter the German. Sometimes we discussed at great length the exact English equivalent of some German or French word. I remember one which he came back to again and again, the word leichtsinnig.
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