Wood. "That he couldn't choose any one so agreeable to me. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. A sprinkling of callow youths, and a couple of pronounced young Jews, who were talking loudly together in some unintelligible jargon of the City. Our ideal had fallen. ’ ‘A pretty tale. They are used to me, they only cry because they have become so used to being here.
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