Jonathan shook his head. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench. His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. ” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened.
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