Foglio possessed no power of thought no depth of feeling,

no troublesome sensibilities: nothing but a few commonplace animal instincts.

I sigh as I write these dismal reminiscences of him.

I used to watch and study this patriarchal personage with,

I think, more lively curiosity than any other human person.

He was a rare phenomenon – so reprehensible, in every sense:

so shallow, so delusive, so impalpable, such an absolute nonentity.

My conclusion was that he had no soul, no heart,

no mind; nothing, as I have already said, but instincts.

He was an execrable human being in so many ways.

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Paraphrases from the novel The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne.

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