'
'Ah, but what about you? Haven't you anything to be sorry for?' 'You've
got photos of Hugo on your piano still; I haven't seen you move them away
yet, though I've shown you not once but fifty times I wished you to--yes,
and begged you to do it.' 'Oh, what a fuss you make about those photos!'
said she. 'Oh, don't make any mistake! I'm not asking you now. If you went
and shifted them now, it would make no difference. I've begged and prayed
of you fifty times before. Only, I think it would have been a little more
decent if you'd burned them the day you came home. But, instead of that,
you've books here lying about in your room with his name in. And there's a
handkerchief with his initials on, I see.' 'Oh, it's all your jealousy,'
answered Fruen. 'I can't see what difference it makes. I can't kill him,
as you'd like me to, and Papa and Mama say the same. After all, I've lived
with him and been married to him.' 'Married to him?' 'Yes, that's what I
say. It isn't every one that looks at Hugo and me the way you do.
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