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and life in general. As I write the sentence,
“The earth is dirty, the sea is dirty, and dirt
rains from the sky,” imagine my astonishment,
as I see a clear drop of water fall upon the
paper. No electricity! A miracle! In the
evening as I am still working at the table, a
noise from the washing-stand startles me. I look
in that direction, and see that a wax-cloth, which
I use in my morning ablutions, has fallen down.
In order to get at the rights of the matter, I
hang it up, so that it cannot fall down again.
It falls again!
What is that? My thoughts now revert to
the occultists and their secret powers. I leave
the town with my written indictment of them in
my pocket, and betake myself to Lund, where
there are old friends of mine: doctors, specialists
in mental disease, and even theosophists on
whose aid I reckon.
How have I come to settle down in this little
university town, this place of rustication and
penance for the students of Upsala, when they
have lived too freely at the cost of their purses
and their health? Is this my Canossa, where I
must retract my false doctrines before the same
set of youths who between 1880 and 1890 regarded
me as their standard-bearer? I
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