Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Ball at Ekeby
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
Below is the raw OCR text
from the above scanned image.
Do you see an error? Proofread the page now!
Här nedan syns maskintolkade texten från faksimilbilden ovan.
Ser du något fel? Korrekturläs sidan nu!
This page has been proofread at least once.
(diff)
(history)
Denna sida har korrekturlästs minst en gång.
(skillnad)
(historik)
head, then a faint cry, then another blow; he was
beating her mother—the fearful, tyrannous
Melchior Sinclaire was beating his wife.
Marienne threw herself writhing in agony on the
steps. She was crying now, and her tears froze on
the threshold of her home.
Pity—mercy! Open, open, that she may give her
own shoulders to the blows. Oh, that he could beat
her mother! beat her, because she could not see her
daughter lie in the snowdrifts, because she had tried
to comfort her!
Great degradation swept over her that night. She
had dreamed herself a queen, and now she lay
outside the door of her home, hardly better than a
whipped tramp. But she raised herself again in icy
anger. Once again she raised her hand and struck
the door and cried:
“Hear what I say—you—you you who struck
my mother. You shall yet weep. Melchior Sinclaire,
you shall weep!”
And then Marienne turned and lay down in the
snowdrift. She threw aside her fur mantle, and lay
down in the black velvet dress which stood out
so distinctly against the white snow. She lay and
thought of her father coming out early for his
morning walk, and finding her there. Her only wish
was that he himself should find her.
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
