Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Part one - III
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know that the coins decide what you can afford to wish or to
want.”
Jenny nodded pensively. “Yes, but one must not feel like
that when one has health and youth and knowledge.”
“Well, take my case, for instance. I have always believed
that I have some aptitude for scientific work, and it is the only
thing I would like to do. I have written a few books —
popular ones, you know — and I am now working at an essay on
the Bronze Age in South Europe. But I am a teacher, and
have a fairly good position — that of a superintendent of a
private school.”
“You have come out here to work, to study — I remember
you said so this morning.”
He did not answer, but continued: “It was the same thing
with my father. He wanted to be an artist — wanted it more
than anything else, and he came out here for a year. Then
he married, and is now the owner of a lithographic press, which
he has kept going for twenty-six years under great difficulties.
I don’t believe my father thinks he has got much out of life.”
Jenny Winge sat as before, looking thoughtfully in front of
her. In the orchard below grew rows of vegetables, small
innocent tufts of green on the grey soil, and on the far side of
the meadow one could see the yellow masses of ruins on the
Palatine against the dark foliage. The day promised to be
warm. The Alban mountains in the distance, beyond the pines
of the villa gardens, looked misty against the soft blue of
the sky.
Jenny drank some wine, still looking straight ahead. Helge
followed with his eyes the smoke of her cigarette — a faint
morning breeze carried it out in the sunshine. She sat with her
legs crossed. She had small ankles, and her feet were clad in
thin purple stockings and bead-embroidered evening shoes.
The jacket was open over the gathered silver-grey dress with
the white collar and the beads, which threw pink spots on her
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