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THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL 247
of the shop, once again seized the shafts, and wandered
up the street. He stopped at a bookseller’s, and as if to
make one more bid for good fortune, he called out for the
last time
—
" Quatre liards la botte !
Quatre liards la botte !
"
Afraid that somebody might beckon to him in reply,
he put the bottle to his lips and greedily drank the dark-
red liquid, as if to quench a burning thirst. The pupils
of his eyes contracted as if he were staring into the sun ;
a vivid scarlet flame shot across his cheeks, his knees
bent, and he fell on the edge of the gutter. He snored
loudly like a man in a sound sleep ; the perspiration stood
in large drops on his face, and there was a quivering
movement of his legs.
By the time the police had arrived he lay quite still,
but the expression of his face plainly betrayed his last
conscious thoughts
—
" Life was sometimes good, evil every now and then,
but the best thing came last. I solved the problem as well
as I could, and it was not easy, although the rich man
found that it was not enough. But we did not understand
one another. It is a pity that men are not meant to
understand one another."
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