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Updated: June 4, 2025
It should have been served before, but Mr. Feuerstein's exhibition had delayed it. "No I must work," he replied. "It's five o'clock." "That's right," said Brauner with an approving nod. "Business first! I must go in myself and you, too, Hilda." The late Sunday afternoon opening was for a very important trade. Hilda blushed the descent from the romantic to the practical jarred upon her. But Mr.
Feuerstein's eyes shifted rapidly as he said in a false voice: "She got a divorce years ago." "M-m-m," said Loeb. "Anyhow, she's away off in Russia." "I don't want you to confess a crime you haven't come to me about," said Loeb, adding with peculiar emphasis: "Of course, if we KNEW you were still married to the Mrs. Feuerstein of seven years ago we couldn't take the present case.
Feuerstein's six weeks in Hoboken it is enough to say that they were weeks of storm and stress wretched lodgments in low boarding-houses, odd jobs at giving recitations in beer halls, undignified ejectments for drunkenness and failure to pay, borrowings which were removed from frank street-begging only in his imagination.
His real reason was his hopes from the reports on Feuerstein's past, which his detective would make. But he thought it was not necessary to tell Beck about the detective. After another talk with Travis, Feuerstein decided that he must give up Hilda entirely until this affair with the Gansers was settled. Afterward well, there would be time to decide when he had his five thousand.
"I'll go through to Stuyvesant Square," she said, "and wait there on a bench near the Sixteenth Street entrance. You'll be quick, won't you?" Sophie went to Mr. Feuerstein's number and rang. After a long wait a slovenly girl in a stained red wrapper, her hair in curl-papers and one stocking down about her high-heeled slipper, opened the door and said: "What do you want?
She feared he would vent plain speech that would cut Mr. Feuerstein's sensitive soul and embattle his dignity and pride against his love. "I'll speak to them as soon as I can," she said. "Then you will speak to them to-morrow or next day, my treasure, and I shall see you on Sunday afternoon." "No not Sunday afternoon. I must stay at home father has ordered it."
But she had not yet reached the stage at which overt acts are deliberately planned upon the surface of the mind. One of her girl friends ran in to gossip with her late in the afternoon of the eighth day after Mr. Feuerstein's "parting scene" in Tompkins Square. The talk soon drifted to Hilda, whom the other girl did not like.
She paused and tried to draw him into conversation. But he answered briefly and absently, gradually retreating into the darkness of his shop and pointedly drawing the door between him and her. Sophie went on her way downcast, but not in the least disheartened. "When Hilda is Mrs. Feuerstein," she said to herself. Mr. Feuerstein's evening was even more successful than his afternoon.
She looked at Feuerstein's dead face and shivered. And as she looked, memories flooded her, drowning resentment and fear. She rose, went slowly up to him; she laid her hand softly upon his brow, pushed back his long, yellow hair. The touch of her fingers seemed to smooth the wild, horrible look from his features. As she gazed down at him the tears welled into her eyes.
Feuerstein's going to act." Hilda was bubbling over with delight. Otto sat forgotten in the corner. Mrs. Brauner came bustling, her face rosy from the kitchen fire and her hands moist from a hasty washing. Mr. Feuerstein waited until all were seated in front of him. He then rose and advanced with stately tread toward the clear space.
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