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The sound still approached. Sometimes it seemed
so loud that Anna turned her head, expecting to
see the head of Sintram’s horse just behind their
sledge—sometimes it died away. Now they heard
it on the right, now on the left of the road, but they
saw no one. It seemed as though the sleigh-bells
followed them.
And just as such bells rang in melodies, sang,
talked, and answered when you returned at night
from a ball, so they sang and talked and answered
now. The whole forest echoed with their tune.
Anna Stjärnhök began to wish something would
appear—to see Sintram and his red horse. That
dreadful bell-ringing began to unnerve her.
She was not afraid, she had never been afraid, but
those sleigh-bells distracted and tortured her.
“Those sleigh-bells torment me,” she said at last,
and immediately the words were caught up by the
bells. “Torment me,” they rang; “torment, torment,
torment me,” they sang in every possible tone.
It was not long since she had driven over this
same road hunted by wolves. In the darkness she
had seen white teeth glance in gaping mouths, she
had expected her body to be torn to pieces by
the savage brutes, but she had not been afraid. She
had never lived through a more glorious night.
Strong and beautiful the horse had been that
carried her, strong and beautiful, too, was the man who
had shared the joy of adventure with her.
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