Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Beggar
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Then she struck the table with her clenched fist,
and gave him a piece of her mind.
“Oh, indeed, you want to die, do you? Well, I
shouldn’t have been so greatly surprised if I had
found you to be really alive. But look at your
half-starved body, your helpless limbs, and dim eyes!
Do you mean to tell me there is anything left to
kill? Do you suppose it is necessary to lie stiff and
straight and to be nailed into a coffin to be dead?
Don’t you suppose that, standing here, I can see
how dead you are, Gösta Berling? What have you
but a skull in place of a head, and worms creeping
out of your eyes? Don’t you taste the earth in your
mouth, and don’t you hear your bones rattle when
you move? You have drowned yourself in drink,
Gösta Berling; you are already dead.
“Is it the shame of having once been a preacher
that is driving you now to kill yourself? More
honor would be gained if you would employ your
talents and be of some use on God’s green earth.
Why did n’t you come to me in your trouble, and
I should have put things right for you? And now
I suppose you expected to win some respect when
you were laid out, and people spoke of you as a
beautiful corpse?”
The beggar sat calm, almost smiling, while she
thundered forth her anger. “No fear,” he thought,
joyfully; “the forest awaits me, she has no power
to move me.”
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