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repeated the whole piece, one of the most perfect of the most perfect of
poets; and a phrase struck him like a blow: Du, stolzes Herz, A hast
es ja gewolit. Where was the pride of his heart? And he raged against
himself, as a man bites on a sore tooth, in a heady sensuality of scorn.
'I have no pride, I have no heart, no manhood,' he thought, 'or why
should I prolong a life more shameful than the gallows? Or why should I
have fallen to it? No pride, no capacity, no force. Not even a bandit!
and to be starving here with worse than banditti--with this trivial
hell-hound!' His rage against his comrade rose and flooded him, and he
shook a trembling fist at the sleeper.
A swift step was audible. The captain appeared upon the threshold of the
cell, panting and flushed, and with a foolish face of happiness. In his
arms he carried a loaf of bread and bottles of beer; the pockets of his
coat were bulging with cigars.
He rolled his treasures on the floor, grasped Herrick by both hands, and
crowed with laughter.
'Broach the beer!' he shouted. 'Broach the beer, and glory hallelujah!'
'
Beer?' repeated Huish, struggling to his feet. 'Beer it is!' cried
Davis. 'Beer and plenty of it. Any number of persons can use it (like
Lyon's tooth-tablet) with perfect propriety and neatness. Who's to
officiate?'
'Leave me alone for that,' said the clerk. He knocked the necks off with
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