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Frowenfeld, it is of no use to talk; you may hold in contempt the Creole scorn of toil just as I do, myself, but in theory, my-de'-seh, not too much in practice. You cannot afford to be entirely different from the community in which you live; is that not so?" "A friend of mine," said Frowenfeld, "has told me I must 'compromise."
I spoke just now of the uproar this restitution would make; why, my-de'-seh, just the mention of the lady's name at my house, when we lately held the fête de grandpère, has given rise to a quarrel which is likely to end in a duel." "Raoul was telling me," said the apothecary. M. Grandissime made an affirmative gesture. "Mr.
They turned homeward. "Ah! Mr. Frowenfeld," said the Creole, suddenly, "if the immygrant has cause of complaint, how much more has that man! True, it is only love for which he would have just now drowned himself; yet what an accusation, my-de'-seh, is his whole life against that 'caste' which shuts him up within its narrow and almost solitary limits! And yet, Mr.
Frowenfeld, my-de'-seh; you have the easy part the theorizing." He saw the ungenerousness of his speech as soon as it was uttered, yet he did not modify it. "True, Mr. Grandissime," said Frowenfeld; and after a pause "but you have the noble part the doing." "Ah, my-de'-seh!" exclaimed Honoré; "the noble part! There is the bitterness of the draught!
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