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92 THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL
The sound of the falHng cards and the exclamations
of the players accompanied this brief passage of arms.
A painful silence ensued. She resumed her crochet
work, and with a quick movement allowed the skirts to
drop over her ankles. The spell was broken. My eyes
were gazing at a listless woman, badly dressed. Before
another quarter of an hour had gone by I took my leave,
pretending that I did not feel well.
As soon as I arrived in my attic I brought out my
play, which I had resolved to re-write. Hard work would
help me to get over this hopeless love, otherwise bound
to end in a crime from which inclination, instinct,
cowardice and education made me shrink. And once
more I decided to break off these fatal relations.
An unexpected incident came to my assistance : two
days later the cataloguing of a library, belonging to a
collector who lived at some distance from the town, was
offered to me.
And thus I came to pitch my tent in a spacious room,
lined with books up to the ceiling, of an old manor house
dating from the seventeenth century. Sitting there, I
could let my imagination travel through all the epochs of
my country’s history. The whole Swedish literature was
represented, from the old prints of the fifteenth century
to the latest publications. I gave myself up to my work,
eager to find forgetfulness—and I succeeded. A week
had elapsed and I had never once missed my friends. On
Saturday, the day on which the Baroness generally was
"at home," an orderly brought me an invitation from
the Baron, full of friendly rebuke for having kept away
from them for so long. I was half-pleased, half-sorry
to find myself able to send an amiable refusal in reply,
regretting that my time was no longer my own.
When a second week had gone by another orderly, in
full dress, brought me another communication ; this time
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