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The three friends rise from their chairs and go home, two to their "virgin couches," and the bookseller to his Stafva. When schoolmaster Blom had reached his twentieth year, he was compelled to interrupt his studies at Upsala and accept a post as assistant teacher at Stockholm. As he, in addition, gave private lessons, he made quite a good income. He did not ask much of life.
"Well, old boy," the bookseller began for the hundredth time, "and when are you going to be married?" "Confound your 'when are you going to be married! As if a man hadn't enough trouble without it! Why don't you get married yourself?" growled the schoolmaster. "Oh! because I have my old Stafva," answered the bookseller, who always had a number of stereotyped answers in readiness.
"And, moreover, there's my old Stafva, you know." Stafva was a legendary person in whom nobody believed. She was the incarnation of the bookseller's unrealised dreams. "But you, Mr. Potocki?" suggested the schoolmaster. "He's been married once, that's enough," replies the bookseller. The Pole nods his head like a metrometer. "Yes, I was married very happily. Ugh!" he says and finishes his grog.
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