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Updated: May 4, 2025
Clinch had the raconteur's satisfaction of seeing the vast hall slowly filling with open-eyed and open-mouthed retainers hanging upon his words. Mr. Clinch went on to describe his astonishment at meeting on these very shores some of his own blood and kin. "In fact," said Mr. Clinch, "here were a race calling themselves 'Clinch, but all claiming to have descended from Kolnische."
And the Rabbi is still alive to prove it may his light continue to shine though they write that he has lost his memory." The Shalotten Shammos sceptically passed a pear to his son. Old Gabriel Hamburg, the scholar, came compassionately to the raconteur's assistance. "Rabbi Solomon Maimon," he said, "has left it on record that he witnessed a similar funeral in Posen."
'Yes, I replied, 'and my surname is Tupper. He then got up and laid his hand on the raconteur's shoulder, and said, 'Don't be a fool, De Castro. When a man looks at another as the author of the Proverbial Philosophy is looking at you, he knows that he can use his fists as well as his pen. 'He gave me the lie. Didn't you hear?
"Your figures are not provocative of insatiable appetite," returned his wife, with inimitable sang-froid, staying her paper knife that she might examine an engraving. "Your appetite needs further excitants, then? So did mine until I began to suspect that the history might be authentic, and not a figment of the raconteur's imagination.
Making as much as possible of the raconteur's privileges of clearing his throat, settling himself into good position, and gazing dreamily at the tree-tops for inspiration, he began in a slow, measured voice "In ze pass he stood. Zen gomed his enemies. He fired his gon and shooted some dead. Zen did zey run avay. Zat vas vat happened."
Here was adventure with no raconteur's glamour, no bookish gloss. Here was Romance. Romance unshaven, illiterate, with its coat off making coffee in a smoke-blackened tomato-can, but Romance nevertheless. That this romance should touch her life, Louise had not the faintest dream. She was alone ... but, pshaw! Boyar was grazing near, and besides, she was not really afraid of the men.
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