He lived by himself very quietly, and but for the
fact that our apartments were next door to each other —
which occasioned a good many chance encounters on the stairs —
we should have remained practically unacquainted. For he was not
a sociable man. Indeed, he was unsociable to a degree
I had never before experienced in anybody. He was, in
fact, as he called himself, a real wolf of the
Steppes, a strange, wild, shy — very shy — being from another
world than mine. How deep the loneliness into which his
life had drifted on account of his disposition and destiny!
Paraphrases from the novel Steppenwolf by Hermann Hesse.