His appearance produced something of a sensation, for, in addition
to being the son of a rich merchant and the prospective son-in-law
of a celebrated rabbi, he was the possessor of a truly phenomenal
memory. He was well versed in the entire Talmud, and could
recite by heart about five hundred leaves, or one thousand pages,
of it. He was generally called the Pole. He was tall and supple,
fair-complexioned, and well-groomed, with a suggestion of
self-satisfaction and aloofness in the very sinuosity of his figure.
His velvet skull-cap, which was always pushed back on his head,
exposed to view a forelock of golden hair. His long-skirted,
well-fitting coat was of the richest broadcloth I had ever seen. He
wore a watch and chain that were said to be worth a small fortune.
I hated him. He was repugnant to me for his Polish accent, for his
good clothes, for his well-fed face, for his haughty manner, for the
servile attention that was showered on him, and, above all, for his
extraordinary memory. I had always been under the impression
that the boys of well-to-do parents were stupid.
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