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. ''He is a tall, strong man of about forty, stout; swarthy countenance, covered with dark hair; his black beard cut round. He speaks in loud, gruff tones, at the same time making coarse gestures and grasping the lapel of the man whom he happens to he addressing. Despite this, his face and person beam with a certain frank geniality.) So they won't come! They don't have to!. . . So I got together some poor folks. . . Don't you worry. . . We'll have plenty of customers for our honey-cakes and our geese. (Noticing Rifkele, he sits down.'') Come here, my little Rifkele, come to papa.

Do they think they'll soil their pedigree by coming to you? And when they need to borrow a hundred-rouble note. . . or take a charity contribution. . . they're not at all ashamed of your company then. . . The Gentile is impure, but his money's untainted.

She's afraid already. Something new to worry about, eh? Never fear, it'll spoil nothing of yours. . . (Calls Rifkele.) Well, well, come to daddy, won't you?