” “Sure thing, kid. Yet either the rest or the wine seemed already to have done him good. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. My nerves were in rags. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. ‘And so you sneak back,’ she threw at him, ‘like the jackal that you are. So he marched into the street, primarily bent upon making the favourable discovery.
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