” He uttered thoughtfully. His throat filled; he wanted to weep. "He hash eshcaped!" cried the Jew. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. "Vat ish it, Mishter Vild?" inquired Mendez. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava.
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