Your mother, for what it’s worth to you—for there’s nothing for you here, by God!—was the woman I chose for Nicholas. ” He smiled at the naiveté of her suggestion. And you think I would marry you?’ ‘Why not? I am unworthy, eh? Because I am a servant. The honey on his tongue turned to ashes. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell.
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