I feel
myself rudely affected by the sight of my lean fingers. I hate the whole
of my gaunt, shrunken body, and shrink from bearing it, from feeling it
envelop me. Lord, if the whole thing would come to an end now, I would
heartily, gladly die!
Completely worsted, soiled, defiled, and debased in my own estimation, I
rose mechanically and commenced to turn my steps homewards. On the way I
passed a door, upon which the following was to be read on a
plate--"Winding-sheets to be had at Miss Andersen's, door to the right."
Old memories! I muttered, as my thoughts flew back to my former room in
Hammersborg. The little rocking-chair, the newspapers near the door, the
lighthouse director's announcement, and Fabian Olsen, the baker's
new-baked bread. Ah yes; times were better with me then than now; one
night I had written a tale for ten shillings, now I couldn't write
anything. My head grew light as soon as ever I attempted it. Yes, I would
put an end to it now; and I went on and on.
As I got nearer and nearer to the provision shop, I had the half-conscious
feeling of approaching a danger, but I determined to stick to my purpose;
I would give myself up. I ran quickly up the steps. At the door I met a
little girl who was carrying a cup in her hands, and I slipped past her
and opened the door. The shop boy and I stand face to face alone for the
second time.
"Well!" he exclaims; "fearfully bad weather now, isn't it?" What did this
going round the bush signify? Why didn't he seize me at once? I got
furious, and cried:
"Oh, I haven't come to prate about the weather.
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