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Falk by Joseph Conrad
page 92 of 95 (96%)
early on board my ship with a most perplexed air. It struck me, however,
that he too would do his best to survive. He seemed greatly calmed on
the subject of Falk, but still very full of it.

"What is it you said I was last night? You know," he asked after some
preliminary talk. "Too--too--I don't know. A very funny word."

"Squeamish?" I suggested.

"Yes. What does it mean?"

"That you exaggerate things--to yourself. Without inquiry, and so on."

He seemed to turn it over in his mind. We went on talking. This Falk was
the plague of his life. Upsetting everybody like this! Mrs. Hermann was
unwell rather this morning. His niece was crying still. There was nobody
to look after the children. He struck his umbrella on the deck. She
would be like that for months. Fancy carrying all the way home, second
class, a perfectly useless girl who is crying all the time. It was
bad for Lena too, he observed; but on what grounds I could not guess.
Perhaps of the bad example. That child was already sorrowing and crying
enough over the rag doll. Nicholas was really the least sentimental
person of the family.

"Why does she weep?" I asked.

"From pity," cried Hermann.

It was impossible to make out women. Mrs. Hermann was the only one he
pretended to understand. She was very, very upset and doubtful.
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