
The Double Life
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I WAS passing through the waiting-room of the Morning Journal on a certain evening last year when my attention was drawn to a man seated in a corner. He was dressed in black and his appearance was that of the deepest dejection. In fact upon his face I read the most melancholy despair.
He was not weeping, his eyes were dry and almost expressionless and received the impression of exterior objects li...
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I WAS passing through the waiting-room of the Morning Journal on a certain evening last year when my attention was drawn to a man seated in a corner. He was dressed in black and his appearance was that of the deepest dejection. In fact upon his face I read the most melancholy despair.
He was not weeping, his eyes were dry and almost expressionless and received the impression of exterior objects li...
Weiterlesen
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