She yielded to my arms.
Urged on by the chill air, we clung together in a delirium of
love-making. There were passionate embraces and kisses. I felt
that her thin, dried-up lips were not to my taste, but I went on
kissing them with unfeigned fervor.
The singing echoed dolefully. We remained in that secluded nook
until the growing chill woke us from our trance. I took her home.
When we reached a tiny square jammed with express-wagons we
paused to kiss once more, and when we found ourselves in front
of her stoop, which was now deserted, the vigorous hand-clasp
with which I took my leave was symbolic of another kiss.
I went away without discovering the size of her hoard. I was to call
on her the next evening.
As I trudged along through the swarming streets on my way home
the predominant feeling in my heart was one of physical distaste.
Poor thing! I felt that marrying her was out of the question
Nevertheless, the next evening I went to see her as arranged. I
found her out. Her landlady handed me a letter. It was in Yiddish:
Mr.
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