Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Part one - IV
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“I won’t talk of reputation after all these doings of yours.”
“No, better not speak about my reputation. You are quite
right there. At home, in Christiania, I have spoilt my reputation
past mending, once and for all.” She laughed hysterically.
“Damn it all! I don’t care.”
“I don’t understand you, Cesca darling. You don’t care
for any of those men. Why do you want.... And as to
Ahlin, can’t you see he is in earnest? Norman Douglas, too,
was in earnest. You don’t know what you are doing. I really
do believe, child, that you’ve no instincts at all.”
Francesca put away brush and comb and looked at Jenny’s
hairdressing in the glass. She tried to retain her defiant little
smile, but it faded away and her eyes filled with tears.
“I had a letter this morning, too.” Her voice trembled.
“From Berlin, from Borghild.” Jenny rose from the
dressing-table. “Yes, perhaps you had better get ready. Will you
put the kettle on, or do you think we’d better cook the
artichokes first?” She began to make the bed. “We might call
Marietta — but don’t you think we had better do it ourselves?”
“Borghild writes that Hans Hermann was married last week.
His wife is already expecting a child.”
Jenny put the matchbox on the table. She glanced at Francesca’s
miserable little face and then went quietly up to her.
“It is that singer, Berit Eck, you know, he was engaged to.”
Francesca spoke in a faint voice, leaning for an instant against
her friend, and then began to arrange the sheets with trembling
hands.
“But you knew they were engaged — more than a year ago.”
“Yes — let me do that, Jenny; you lay the table. I know,
of course, that you knew all about it.”
Jenny laid the table for four. Francesca put the counterpane
on the bed and brought the roses. She stood fumbling
with her blouse, then pulled out a letter from inside it and
twisted it between her fingers.
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