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“Gösta,” she said, “was I selfish when I went to
Sjö for the Major? I remembered very well that the
smallpox was there. Neither is it pleasant to be out
in thin shoes in the cold snow.”
“"Love lives by love, and not by service and good
works,” he replied.
“You want us to be strangers in the future?”
“Yes.”
“Gösta Berling is very changeable.”
“They say so.”
He was apathetic, impossible to awaken, and
really she felt herself even colder. Self-analysis sat
and sneered at her attempt to play at being in love.
“Gösta,” she pleaded at last, “I have never wilfully
wronged you, even if it has seemed like it. I
beg you, forgive me!”
“I cannot forgive you.”
She knew that if she had had any whole feeling
about her she could have won him, and she tried
to act a passionate love. The icy eyes mocked her,
but she tried in any case. She did not want to lose
him.
“Don’t go, Gösta, don’t leave me in anger. Think
how ugly I have become now. No one will love me
again.”
“I don’t love you either,” he answered. “You
must get accustomed to having your heart
trampled upon, as others do.”
“Gösta, I have never been able to love any one
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