He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. Probably a sick man's whim. He needed to laugh, but only she laughed as he chuckled weakly. "I give you all of my genius, and you say—'Get out!' I am some kind of a dog. My father thought the latter. "Aw, piffle!" he said, half aloud and rather disgustedly, as he stepped out into the sunshine. But one must disguise oneself. "You're only twenty—not legally of age. The Jew got in first. And I am grateful to you.
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