The Pawnbroker. In his murky, cluttered shop in Spanish Harlem's upper depths, Sol Nazerman sits behind a wire partition coldly doling out pittances to the people he calls "scum and rejects." Hopefully, they come to hock personal or stolen goods. They look to the old Jew for understanding, or even a fair price, and see the eyes of a man whose last links to life were cruelly severed decades ago in a Nazi concentration camp. Now he speaks of those days as if he were carving an epitaph: "Everything I loved was taken from...
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