" I go faster and faster, as if it is a case of fetching
something, and stand after a little time in my tinker's workshop. Without
pausing a moment, or wavering in my resolution, I go over to the bed, and
roll up Hans Pauli's blanket. It was a strange thing if this bright idea
of mine couldn't save me. I rose infinitely superior to the stupid
scruples which sprang up in me--half inward cries about a certain stain on
my honour. I bade good-bye to the whole of them. I was no hero--no
virtuous idiot. I had my senses left.
So I took the blanket under my arm and went to No. 5 Stener's Street. I
knocked, and entered the big, strange room for the first time. The bell on
the door above my head gave a lot of violent jerks. A man enters from a
side room, chewing, his mouth is full of food, and stands behind the
counter.
"Eh, lend me sixpence on my eye-glasses?" said I. "I shall release them in
a couple of days, without fail--eh?"
"No! they're steel, aren't they?"
"Yes."
"No; can't do it."
"Ah, no, I suppose you can't. Well, it was really at best only a joke.
Well, I have a blanket with me for which, properly speaking, I have no
longer any use, and it struck me that you might take it off my hands."
"I have--more's the pity--a whole store full of bed-clothes," he replied;
and when I had opened it he just cast one glance over it and said, "No,
excuse me, but I haven't any use for that either.
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