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 Isn't he generous? Doesn't he give the biggest donations to charity? . . . And he's had a Holy Scroll written. ..

But they say that you mustn't read from such a Holy Scroll, and that the daughter of such mothers become what the mothers themselves were. . . that something draws them on like a magnet, and that the Evil Spirit drags them down into the mire. ..

Who said so?

An old fortune-teller, — a sorceress told it to me. . . it's just as if such a daughter were in the power of an enchantment. ..

That's a rotten lie! . . . Where's the old gypsy who told you that? . . . I'd scratch her eyes out for her! There is a God in heaven, I say! We have a God in Heaven!

, ''steals from her compartment into the cellar. She is half-dressed, with a shawl thrown over her. Her colored stockings are visible, and her hair is in disorder. Her eyes sparkle with wanton cunning. Her face is long, and insolently pretty; she is quite young. A lock of hair falls over her forehead. Her eyes blink as she''