Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Part one - XI
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“Till next time,” she said, kissing him and trying not to
give in to her own sad mood.
“Yes. Have you thought of it, Jenny, that when we sit
here again it cannot be exactly the same as now? One changes
day by day; we shall not be the same when we sit here again.
Next year — next spring — is not this spring? — we shall not
be the same either. We may be just as fond of one another,
but not exactly in the same way as now.”
Jenny shivered: “A woman would never say that, Helge.”
“You think it strange that I should say it? I cannot help
thinking it, because these months have made such a change in
me — and in you, too. Don’t you remember, you told me on
that first morning how different you are now from the time you
first came here? You could not have been fond of me as I was
when we first met — could you, now?”
She stroked his cheek: “But, Helge, dear boy, the great
change is just that we have got so fond of one another, and
our love will ever increase. If we change, it will be only
because our love has grown, and that is nothing to be afraid of,
is it? Do you remember the day at Via Cassia — my birthday
— when the first fine threads between us were spun? They
have grown stronger now, and grow stronger every day. Is
there anything in that to make you afraid?”
He kissed her neck: “You are leaving tomorrow....”
“And you are coming to me in six weeks.”
“Yes; but we are not here. We cannot go about in the
Campagna. We have to leave in the midst of spring.”
“It is spring at home too — and larks are singing there as
well. Look at those driving clouds — just like those at home.
Think of Nordmarken. We shall go there together. Spring
is lovely at home, with strips of melting snow on all the hills
round the deep blue fjords, the last runs on ski when the snow
is melting and the brooks are rushing down the mountain-side;
when the sky is green and clear at night with large, bright
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