By Alfred (Eugene Jolas, trans.) Doblin
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Additional info for Berlin Alexanderplatz: The Story of Franz Biberkopf
Nobody’s chopped ‘em off for me yet. ” And across the narrow, obstructed courtyard he went; the two men looked down the stairs after him. He had his stiff hat down over his face, mumbled, as he stepped over a puddle of gasoline: “Lotta poison. Now for a cognac. The first man who comes along gets one in the jaw. ” Market dull, later Bears very active, Hamburg depressed, London weaker It was raining. To the left in Munzstrasse signs sparkled in front of the movies. At the corner he was unable to pass, the people were standing in front of a fence, then it got very steep, the street-car tracks ran on planks laid across the space, a car was just riding slowly over them.
He soon had beads of sweat on his face, he groaned. ” “It’s not a bird, it’s my landlady. ” “What do you think she’s doing? ” “Well, she ought to stop running around like that. What does she want to run around for now? ” What a sweaty fellow he is, I’ll be glad to get rid of him, the old bum! I’ll soon put him out. She knocked next door: “Frau Priese, won’t you be quiet for just a few minutes? ” Well that’s done, dear fatherland, be comfort thine, come to my heart, but you’re going to be ditched soon.
He had pulled up his trousers, hobbling from one leg to the other. ” “Leave it to Franz, leave it to Franz! ” “Take your hat and beat it. If he meets you, and me with a black eye!
Berlin Alexanderplatz: The Story of Franz Biberkopf by Alfred (Eugene Jolas, trans.) Doblin