A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. I don’t know. That was what she was trying to make him understand. In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. ‘Stay, Saling!’ The butler halted, looking round enquiringly.
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