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Ho! ho! fight with a nigger that is too good a joke!" And laughing heartily, the young ruffian leant back in his chair. "I want some money to-morrow, dad," continued he. "I say, old gentleman, wasn't it a lucky go that darkey's father was put out of the way so nicely, eh? We've been living in clover ever since haven't we?" "How dare you address me-in that disrespectful manner?
Omar Khayyam, so grossly misunderstood, sang of this liberated man in his immortal scripture, the RUBAIYAT: "Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane, The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again; How oft hereafter rising shall she look Through this same Garden after me-in vain!" The "Moon of Delight" is God, eternal Polaris, anachronous never.
The "Moon of Heav'n" is the outward cosmos, fettered to the law of periodic recurrence. Its chains had been dissolved forever by the Persian seer through his self-realization. "How oft hereafter rising shall she look . . . after me-in vain!" What frustration of search by a frantic universe for an absolute omission!
Kuzma Vassilyevitch grinned and blushed to his ears. "I shall call you: lovely Emilie!" "No, no! You must call me: Mein Schatzchen, mein Zuckerpuppchen! Repeat it after me." "With the greatest pleasure, but I am afraid I shall find it difficult...." "Never mind, never mind. Say: Mein." "Me-in." "Zucker." "Tsook-ker." "Puppchen! Puppchen! Puppchen!" "Poop ... poop.... That I can't manage.
"There-there-there!" she continues, incoherently, as a fit of hysterics seize upon her; "you, you, you, have-yes, you have come at the last hour, when my sufferings close. I see devils all about me-haunting me-torturing my very soul-burning me up! See them! see them! here they come-tearing, worrying me-in a cloud of flame!"
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