In
Ulrichen Was A Warm, Wooden, Deep-Eaved, Frousty, Comfortable,
Ramshackle, Dark, Anyhow Kind Of A Little Inn Called 'The Bear'.
And
entering, I saw one of the women whom god loves.
She was of middle age, very honest and simple in the face, kindly and
good. She was messing about with cooking and stuff, and she came up
to me stooping a little, her eyes wide and innocent, and a great spoon
in her hand. Her face was extremely broad and flat, and I have never
seen eyes set so far apart. Her whole gait, manner, and accent proved
her to be extremely good, and on the straight road to heaven. I
saluted her in the French tongue. She answered me in the same, but
very broken and rustic, for her natural speech was a kind of mountain
German. She spoke very slowly, and had a nice soft voice, and she did
what only good people do, I mean, looked you in the eyes as she spoke
to you.
Beware of shifty-eyed people. It is not only nervousness, it is also a
kind of wickedness. Such people come to no good. I have three of them
now in my mind as I write. One is a Professor.
And, by the way, would you like to know why universities suffer from
this curse of nervous disease? Why the great personages stammer or
have St Vitus' dance, or jabber at the lips, or hop in their walk, or
have their heads screwed round, or tremble in the fingers, or go
through life with great goggles like a motor car?
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