"
Cora lies looking at me. Asop, it used to be, but now it is Cora that
lies looking at me. The clock ticks on the mantel; outside my open
window sounds the roar of the city. A knock at the door, and the postman
hands me a letter. A letter with a coronet. I know who sent it; I
understand it at once, or maybe I dreamed it one sleepless night. But in
the envelope there is no letter at all--only two green bird's feathers.
An icy horror thrills me; I turn cold. Two green feathers! I say to
myself: Well, and what of it? But why should I turn cold? Why, there is
a cursed draught from those windows.
And I shut the windows.
There lie two bird's feathers, I think to myself again. I seem to know
them; they remind me of a little jest up in Nordland, just a little
episode among a host of others. It is amusing to see those two feathers
again. And suddenly I seem to see a face and hear a voice, and the voice
says: "Her, Herr Lieutenant: here are your feathers."
"Your feathers."...
Cora, lie still--do you hear? I will kill you if you move!
The weather is hot, an intolerable heat is in the room; what was I
thinking of to close the windows? Open them again--open the door too;
open it wide--this way, merry souls, come in! Hey, messenger, an
errand--go out and fetch me a host of people.
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