Kierulf, this dealer in wool, who has spooked in my brain so long-this creature in whose existence I believe, and whom it was of vital importance that I should meet-had vanished from my memory; was wiped out with many other mad whims which came and went in turns.
Kierulf artila tratantea, garuna hain luzaro okupatua zidan pertsona, existitzen zela uste nuen gizona, hain premia handiz topatu behar nuena, desagertua zen nire gogotik, aldizka bururatzen zitzaizkidan beste gogoeta eroekin batera banitua;