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207

(1852) [MARC] Author: Emilie Flygare-Carlén Translator: Alex L. Krause
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Full resolution (TIFF) - On this page / på denna sida - Chapter XXV. Borgenstierna at home.

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series of splendidly-furnished rooms; no sound was now fo
be heard, but the deep breath of the owner, and the ticking of
the clock.
"I shall suffocate," said Borgenstierna, one afternoon when he
felt more than usually depressed with melancholy, which was so
intimately connected wiçh his whole existence. "I must bave
air." I-l:e advanced fo the balcony. If was an evening in the
fall, when the sun sinks af an early hour; and he gazed af the
bhtrred background, where the tree tops swam together in one dark
#nass, upon which the glittering rays of the sun were shining,
until they finally sunk into the foam-crowned surçace of the lake.
What Borgenstierna was thinking about we do hot know;
but if might bave been of distanç memories which passed by his
soul, as for the last few days he had lived much in bygone rimes.
Itis parents, the poor cot in the forest of Swartenborg, his
çAthful pony, and the adventure which was connected with his
death, the true turning-point of his lire; and, finally, his journey
fo Spinesund, occupied his thoughts for many an bout, and
became entwined gradually more and more with the events of
the past summer. As he was thus standing contemplating the
sunset, his factor approached him and gave him a letter: if was
Wirén’s. No sooner had Borgenstierna recognised his friend’s
famfliar handwriting, than he immediately returned fo his room,
cheerfully pleased to rid himself of his own thoughts.
The relation of ¥irginia’s miraculous excitement ai the
instance of hearing his letter read, awakened feelings with#
him, which cannot easily be deciphered or explained, and stfll
less be described, tt:e could hot help nnderstanding the hints
contained therein, as dark as the veil was, which the writer had
tlu’own over the whole; but as if rejoiced him, on one side, that
something–leg it be what it wasmhad brought lire into that
marble statue, it was, on the other hand, almos# a capital crime
#o think that which ber husband expressed: At the mere
thought of it, the blood rushed fo his head, and his brain grew

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