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Updated: May 14, 2025
Rosenfeld, who was occasionally flowery, "sittin' up as straight as this washboard, and his silk hat shinin' in the sun; but exceptin' the car, which was workin' hard and gettin' nowhere, the whole outfit in the arms of Morpheus." Mrs. Lorenz, whose day it was to have Mrs. Rosenfeld, and who was unfamiliar with mythology, gasped at the last word. "Mercy!" she said.
"If you don't like my price, I'll lend you the knife the next time, and you can let your wife attend to you." Rosenfeld drew out a silver dollar, and followed it reluctantly with a limp and dejected dollar bill. "There are times," he said, "when, if you'd put me and the missus and a knife in the same room, you wouldn't have much left but the knife." Dr.
Perhaps, toiling over a machine in one of the sweat-shops of the towering buildings a true poet may be coining his dreams and aspirations and heartaches into plaintive song; another, like the Sidney Rosenfeld of a score of years ago, who, over his work in the Ghetto of the lower East Side, asked and answered: "Why do I laugh? Why do I weep? I do not know; it is too deep."
"I'm no gossip," she said, putting the tray on the table. "If you won't see, you won't. That Rosenfeld boy is crying." As it was not required that tears be recorded on the record, Carlotta paid no attention to this. "What won't I see?" It required a little urging now. Miss Wardwell swelled with importance and let her superior ask her twice. Then: "Dr.
The very drunk have the intuition sometimes of savages or brute beasts. "You lie." "I want it for Johnny Rosenfeld." He thrust it back into his pocket, but his hand retained its grasp of it. "That's it," he complained. "Don't lemme be happy for a minute! Throw it all up to me!" "You give me that for the Rosenfeld boy, and I'll go out with you."
Society, always kind to single men of good appearance and easy good manners, had taken him up. He wore dinner or evening clothes five nights out of seven, and was supposed by his conservative old neighbors to be going the pace. The rumor had been fed by Mrs. Rosenfeld, who, starting out for her day's washing at six o'clock one morning, had found Dr.
This volume is easily divisible into several distinct parts, which are linked with one another, and to the preceding narrative, only by a conventional thread of introduction. These comprise: the story of Caroline and Rosenfeld, a
She was in a state of wild revolt, for instance, as to Johnny Rosenfeld, and more remotely but not less deeply concerned over Grace Irving. Soon she was to learn of Tillie's predicament, and to take up the cudgels valiantly for her. But her revolt was to be for herself too. On the day after her failure to keep her appointment with Wilson she had her half-holiday.
The ward nurse wants you to come back." The ward had settled for the night. The well-ordered beds of the daytime were chaotic now, torn apart by tossing figures. The night was hot and an electric fan hummed in a far corner. Under its sporadic breezes, as it turned, the ward was trying to sleep. Johnny Rosenfeld was not asleep. An incredible thing had happened to him.
Rosenfeld, and closed again. Only Sidney and K. remained by the door, isolated, alone. "You must not take it like that, dear. It's sad, of course. But, after all, in that condition " It was her first knowledge that he was there. But she did not turn. "They say I poisoned him." Her voice was dreary, inflectionless. "You what?"
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