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wild with glee and sing at the top of my voice and walk
and pick flowers and throw them away again and call to
the birds, when they flew up — and then, on the sudden,
a strange fright would come over me, and I would feel, oh!
so wretched and so small! Whenever a branch broke I’d
start, and the sound of my own voice gave me more fright
than anything else. Hast thou never felt it?”
Before Ulrik Frederik could answer her song rang out:
“Right merrily in the woods I go
Where elm and apple grow,
And I pluck me there sweet roses two
And deck my silken shoe.
Oh, the dance,
Oh, the dance,
Oh, tra-la-la!
Oh, the red, red berries on the dogrose bush!”
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