The roar of waters in a river-bed is like an audible
fog, a monotony of sound beyond reason, contrary to all sense, a miracle
of idiocy. "What is the time, do you know?" "Yes, isn't it?" "Day or
night?" "Yes!" As if some one had laid a stone on six keys of an organ,
and walked off and left it there.
With such childish fancies do I while away the time.
"_Godaften_!" says Fru Falkenberg, and there she is beside me.
I hardly felt surprised; it was almost as if I had expected her. After her
behaviour with her husband's letter, she might well go a little farther.
Now I could think two ways about her coming: either she had turned
thoroughly sentimental at being reminded so directly of her home once
more, or she wanted to make her engineer jealous; he might perhaps be
watching us from his window that very moment, and I had been sent for to
go back to Ovrebo. Possibly she was thoroughly calculating, and had been
trying to work on his jealousy even yesterday, when she studied the letter
so attentively.
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