Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Mamsell Marie
<< 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)
one could have a fine open view, that was her dream.
But of love she would have none.
When on a summer evening she heard the sound
of violin music from the crossroads, where the fiddler
sat on a stile, and the young folks danced till
the dust whirled about them, she would go a long
way around through the wood to escape hearing and
seeing.
The day after Christmas, when the peasant brides
came to be dressed by Fru Moreus and her daughters,
while they were being adorned with wreaths of
myrtle and high satin crowns broidered with glass
beads, with gorgeous silk sashes and breast bouquets
of hand-made roses and skirts garlanded with
taffeta flowers, she kept to her room so as not to see
them decked out in Love’s honor.
And when on winter evenings the Moreus girls
sat at the quilting-frame in the cosy living-room,
where a fire crackled on the hearth and the
glass-apples swung and sweated before the blaze; when
handsome Gösta Berling and the good Ferdinand,
dropping in for a visit, would pull the thread out of
the needles and fool the girls into making crooked
stitches, the walls fairly ringing with the merry
chatter and the love-making, as hands met hands under
the quilting-frame—then, vexed, she would hurriedly
gather up her knitting and quit the room.
For she hated lovers and the ways of Love.
But Love’s misdeeds she knew, and of these she
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
