"
He could think of nothing but the letter, and went on about it again:
"For there was no need to have all that mystery about a letter from home.
No; I see it all now. Want to go in, you say? Well then, go in, Fru, by
all means. _Godnat, Frue_. My dutiful respects, as from a son."
He bowed, and stood watching her with a sneering smile.
"A son? Oh yes," she replied, with sudden emotion. "I am old, yes. And you
are so young, Hugo, that's true. And that's why I kissed you. But I
couldn't be your mother--no, it's only that I'm older, ever so much older
than you. But I'm not quite an old woman yet, and that you should see if
only . . . But I'm older than Elisabet and every one else. Oh, what am I
talking about? Not a bit of it. I don't know what else the years may have
done to me, but they haven't made me an old woman yet. Have they? What do
you think yourself? Oh, but what do you know about it? . . ."
"No, no," he said softly. "But is there any sense in going on like this?
Here are you, young as you are, with nothing on earth to do all the time
but keep guard over yourself and get others to do the same.
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