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Updated: June 20, 2025
This was not said in simple courtesy; it was a request. She understood it perfectly. But she said, all the same, that she was not sure she had time; it would be interesting, but Pause. "I wrote many of my poems there," continued Irgens. "I should like to show you the place." Aagot was silent. "Come, please!" he exclaimed suddenly, and wanted to take her hand.
She made an effort to recover it, but too late; it was blown back into the park. Irgens caught up with it as it was flattened against a tree. She stood still for a moment; then she, too, began to run in pursuit, and when at last they met by the tree her despair was less poignant. Irgens handed her the hat, and she thanked him. She looked embarrassed.
Thanks, very much!" Suddenly she spies the old rubber shoe with nails and junk, and she cries, full of curiosity: "Whatever is this?" She lets go her husband's arm and brings the rubber over to the table. "Whatever have you got here, Milde?" She rummages in the rubbish with her white fingers, calls Irgens over, finds one strange thing after another, and asks questions concerning them.
She waved her hand, but he pretended not to see it; he did not bow. And without another word to Irgens she ran after him, down the slope. The wind blew her skirts to her knees; she grabbed her hat with one hand and ran. She caught up with him by the first cross-street. He stopped and greeted her as usual awkwardly, with an expression of melancholy gladness, moved in every fibre of his being.
"Imagine! I thought at once it was my bow. It made me glad; I don't know why," she said and bowed her head. Irgens shouted and asked her if she were coming. "No!" she called bluntly and without thinking. She did not even turn her head. But when she realised how she had answered she grew confused and cried to Irgens: "Pardon me just a moment!"
Ole talked on, pleased and happy over his friend's accomplishment, admiring now one stanza, now another, and thanking Irgens over and over. "Aagot and I have read it with beating hearts!" he said. "I really believe Aagot wept a little now and then Yes; you did; no use denying it, Aagot.
Irgens had locked his door so as not to be disturbed; he was very secretive. When he had finished his proof-reading he got up and looked out of the window. The weather was bright and sunny, a glorious day. He was going to take Miss Lynum to the Art Exhibition at three. He looked forward to this pleasure; it was really enjoyable to listen to this unsophisticated girl's chatter.
She did not know that this was the way Irgens always paid his rent by being particularly gracious to his landlady's family on the street. The young lady was good-looking, although she had a few freckles. She was really pretty when she blushed; didn't he think so? And Irgens agreed; she was pretty. But she didn't have one only dimple; there was only one who had that....
Just then the door opened and Irgens and Miss Aagot entered. They stopped by the door and looked around; Aagot showed no sign of embarrassment, but when she caught sight of Coldevin, she stepped forward quickly, with a smile on lips that were already opened as if to speak. Suddenly she stopped. Coldevin stared at her and fumbled mechanically at his buttons. This lasted a few moments.
No sooner had his eyes beheld the straight lines of streets and houses than his brain was aquiver, and he had conceived that Egyptian prose poem. If that had been lost, now.... Milde had lately begun to appreciate Ojen; at last his eyes had been opened to his poetry's delicate uniqueness. Irgens, who sat close enough to hear this unusual praise, leaned over to Mrs.
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