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    Babits and Arany stood guard over his prestigious desk like two living, otherworldly princes. The two prophet-heralds on the tired, weathered mountain of culture, the serious-minded Babits, cherishing his humanism of humanity, as Rippl-Rónai understood and saw him, and the already autumn-eyed Arany, sitting on his favourite Margaret Island: Incongruously, bearded 


    Waiting and receiving the hasty decrees of his age, like the ever modest! - To my nervous musings - well, what more can I say? - suddenly the starry-eyed and proud-faced eminence of the literary history theatre enthusiast, pulls his bushman-brows together before me, pointing his finger in his face 


    "Well, that's a four you've said so far! Do you want to go on?" I said, "Go ahead and ask!" - And now the bell-ringing bell-end smiles and laughs, and continues to testify like the examining magistrate of his case. - But he is so 


    "How can I choose the most ideal among so many immortal, translucent lines? "Just tell me what comes to your mind!" - And suddenly I don't realize it myself, but I'm already telling a story: according to the law of the strophes, a thousand strange and strange things! And the old eminence is already


    Under his invisible moustache smiles proudly, "They do your reading! Look at your index out there!" - And then you are quickly dismissed from the Pantheon of knowledge! - It so happened that I got the A mark that day, - and though the doubting humility was gnawing at me, as one who is guilty and has made a mistake - I was still in the grip of it! So, with the happy shame of knowing I had not deliberately failed myself that day, I could still know myself a success!

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