There was no comfort there, however; so he laid down the fourth note, saying, in a stifled voice, "I have been mistaken in you, Hippus;" and, turning away, he wiped his eyes.
"Do not take it to heart, you booby," said his instructor; "if I die before you, you shall be my heir.

And now I am off to taste the wine, and I will make a point of drinking your health, you sensitive Itzig;" and, so saying, he crept out of the door.
Veitel once more wiped away a bitter tear that rolled down his cheeks.
His pleasure in his winnings was gone.

It was a complex sort of feeling, this grief of his.

True, he mourned the lost notes, but he had lost something more.

The only man in the world for whom he felt any degree of attachment had behaved unkindly and selfishly toward him.