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Stockholm, where she arrived in September for the new
term. But her high spirits were gone, she was
restless and depressed. I was not allowed to
look into her heart, and she systematically
avoided being alone with me. On the whole,
she seemed rather indifferent to all who used to
be her intimate friends. Evidently her soul was
elsewhere, and she looked upon these months in
Stockholm as a kind of exile, eagerly
anticipating the Christmas vacations, when she would be
able to go away again. The fact was, she could
neither live with M. nor without him; it was a
hopeless struggle indeed. She was like a plant
which is taken out of its proper soil, yet cannot
thrive in any other, and so is bound to die.
My brother, who had moved to Djursholm,
outside Stockholm, wanted Sonia to come and
live in his neighourhood, but though she was
very sorry that he had left town, she could not
make up her mind to follow his example. ‘Who
knows how long I shall remain here?’ she said,
‘things cannot go on as they are now,’ was her
constant remark, ‘and if I should happen to be
in Stockholm again next winter, I should be so
melancholy that you would not care to have me
near you.’
This intolerable state of mind made her break
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