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Updated: June 11, 2025
Apathy held him, drinking cherry brandy under the moon, and he could not care. Woman question? Man question? What was all this prating? "And now," said Dr. Franchi, as he enjoyed a cigar and Henry a cigarette and both their liqueurs, "let us talk of this mysterious business of poor Svensen." "Yes, do let's," said Henry, for this was much more in his line. "I may misjudge you, Mr.
That was an object of pity which he never could resist. Russia was full of them; this one was probably an exiled Bolshevik. He felt in his pockets for coins, but the hungry Russian infant tugged at his coat. "Come," it said, and Dr. Svensen gathered from it that there were yet more hungry Russians where this came from. He followed....
There are things I must yet say to thee, Valdemar, give me thy close hearing, for my voice is weak." Svensen drew closer, and stood in the humble attitude of one who waits a command from some supreme chief. "This letter," went on the old man, giving him a folded paper, "is to the child of my heart, my Thelma. Send it to her when I am gone.
Owing to unfortunate temporary differences between various of these small republics they could not all agree on one candidate. After what seemed to Henry, unversed in these matters, a great deal of unnecessary voting on the part of the Assembly and of the Council, it was announced that the delegate for Norway, Dr. Svensen, was elected President.
Further and further she receded, the flames around her waving like banners in a battle further and further still till Valdemar Svensen, from his station on the pier, began to lose sight of her blazing timbers, and, starting from his reverie, he ran rapidly from the shore, up through the garden paths to the farm-house, in order to gain the summit, and from that point of vantage, watch the last glimmering spark of the Viking's burial.
There were times when Valdemar Svensen secretly quailed at the mere thought of the wrath of Odin, there were others when he was ready to pluck the great god by the beard and beat him with the flat of his own drawn sword.
She felt perfectly convinced that Svensen had made away with his master's body by some mysterious rite connected with pagan belief, she knew that Gueldmar himself, according to rumor, had buried his own wife in some unknown spot, with strange and weird ceremonials, but she was inclined to be tolerant, and glancing at Svensen's grave, pained face from time to time as she sat beside him in the sledge, she resolved to ask him no more questions on the subject, but to accept and support, if necessary, the theory he had so emphatically set forth, namely, the mystical evanishment of the corpse by some supernatural agency.
She had known Valdemar Svensen for many years he was a man universally liked and respected at all the harbors and different fishing-stations of Norway, and his life was an open book to everybody, with the exception of one page, which was turned down and sealed, this was the question of his religious belief.
Svensen dropped on his knees by the bedside. "An accident, my Lord Olaf," he began falteringly. Gueldmar's eyes suddenly lightened. "Ah, I remember!" he said. "The rush down the valley I remember all!" He paused, then added gently, "And so the end has come, Valdemar!" Svensen uttered a passionate exclamation of distress.
Beneath these wild and craggy fortresses of nature a shining stretch of beach had formed itself, on which the fine white sand, mixed with crushed felspar, sparkled like powdered silver. On the left-hand side of this beach could be distinctly seen the round opening of the cavern to which Valdemar Svensen directed their attention.
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