Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Christmas Eve
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Major’s wife, Gösta Berling—she wanted you
back.”
“What of it?” said Gösta. “Ebba Dohna died
shortly after. I could not have won her in any
case.”
The dark gentleman came close up to him and
whispered in his ear.
“Died—yea—certainly she died. She killed
herself for your sake, but they never told you.”
“You are no bad devil,” said Gösta.
“It was the Major’s wife who arranged it all, I tell
you. She wanted you back in the cavaliers’ wing.”
Gösta burst into a loud laugh.
“You are no bad devil,” he shouted wildly.
“Why shouldn’t we make a contract with you?
You are able to give us the seven foundries, I
suppose, if you feel inclined?”
“A good thing for you if you don’t fight any
longer against good fortune.”
The cavaliers drew an easy breath. It had come to
such a pass with them that they could do nothing
without Gösta. If he had refused to join the affair,
nothing would have come of it. And it was a great
thing for the poverty-stricken cavaliers to be made
masters of Ekeby.
“But notice,” said Gösta, “we take the seven
foundries to save our souls not for the sake of being
rich, prosperous people, who count their money
and weigh their iron. We refuse to be dried-up
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