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Hamsun, Knut, 1859-1952

"Hunger"


My knees trembled fearfully, and I supported myself against the little
polished barrier. I must try once more. Why should just his name have
occurred to me as I stood far away from there in "It won't be I that will
do that," he observed; adding, "and let me tell you, at the same time,
I've had about enough of this."
I tore myself out, sick with hunger, and boiling with shame. I had turned
myself into a dog for the sake of a miserable bone, and I had not got it.
Nay, now there must be an end of this! It had really gone all too far with
me. I had held myself up for many years, stood erect through so many hard
hours, and now, all at once, I had sunk to the lowest form of begging.
This one day had coarsened my whole mind, bespattered my soul with
shamelessness. I had not been too abashed to stand and whine in the
pettiest huckster's shop, and what had it availed me?
But was I not then without the veriest atom of bread to put inside my
mouth? I had succeeded in rendering myself a thing loathsome to myself.
Yes, yes; but it must come to an end. Presently they would lock the outer
door at home? I must hurry unless I wished to lie in the guard-house
again.
This gave me strength. Lie in that cell again I would not. With body bent
forward, and my hands pressed hard against my left ribs to deaden the
stings a little, I struggled on, keeping my eyes fastened upon the
paving-stones that I might not be forced to bow to possible acquaintances,
and hastened to the fire look-out.


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