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How could he look his daughters in the face in the evening of his earthly life? “The slag hid behind something in the cellar, and when his wife tried to bring him his pants, she let them fall in the flour bin.” This elegant remark emanated from Bonengel the barber. His auditors gurgled, the waitress roared. As Jordan walked home he could hear above the wind the voice of Bonengel the barber.
Among other guests in the inn was Bonengel, the barber. He recognised Jordan and spoke to him. He took a seat in the background, picked out the ugliest and greasiest of the waitresses, and ordered a bulky portion of sausage and sauerkraut. He told lascivious anecdotes. When the waitress brought him his food, she tittered, and said: “He is a jolly good fellow, Bonengel is.”
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