"Perhaps I
talk too much. No? Oh, but you must say what you really think.
Sometimes I think to myself this can never come to any good..."
"What can never come to any good?" I ask.
"This between us. That it cannot come to any good. You may believe it or
not, but I am shivering now with cold; I feel icy cold the moment I come
to you. Just out of happiness."
"It is the same with me," I answer. "I feel a shiver, too, when I see
you. But it will come to some good all the same. And, anyhow, let me pat
you on the back, to warm you."
And she lets me, half unwillingly, and then I hit a little harder, for a
jest, and laugh, and ask if that doesn't make her feel better.
"Oh, please, don't when I ask you; _please_," says she.
Those few words! There was something so helpless about her saying it so,
the wrong way round: "Please don't when I ask you."...
Then we went on along the road again. Was she displeased with me for my
jest, I wondered? And thought to myself: Well, let us see. And I said:
"I just happened to think of something. Once when I was out on a sledge
party, there was a young lady who took a silk kerchief from her neck and
fastened it round mine. In the evening, I said to her: 'You shall have
your kerchief again to-morrow; I will have it washed.
Pages:
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61