Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Part one - VII
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He was almost a daily visitor now at the Via Vantaggio; he
could not help it. Miss Winge was always alone, reading or
sewing, and seemed pleased to see him. He thought she had
changed a little of late; she was not so determined or so ready
with her opinions as she used to be; not so inclined to argue
and to lay down the law. She seemed almost a little sad. He
asked her once if she were not quite well.
“Yes, I am very well, thank you. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know — you seem so quiet nowadays.”
She had lighted the lamp meanwhile, and he noticed that
she blushed.
“I may have to go home soon. My sister is ill with pneumonia,
and my mother is so upset about it. I am very sorry to
go,” she added after a pause. “I should have liked to stay
for the spring at least.”
She sat down to her needlework. He wondered in his mind
if it was Heggen — he had never been able to find out if there
was an understanding between them. For the present, Heggen,
who was said to be rather impressionable generally, was very
much attached to a young Danish nurse staying in Rome with
an elderly lady. It seemed so strange that she should blush; it
was not like her.
Francesca came in that evening before he left. He had not
seen her much since Christmas Eve, but enough to understand
that he was quite indifferent to her. She was never in a temper,
or childishly impetuous; she went about as if she did not see
anybody, her mind completely absorbed by something or other.
At times she seemed almost to walk in a trance.
He saw a great deal of Jenny; he went to the trattoria where
she used to have her meals, and also to her rooms. He scarcely
knew why, but he felt he wanted to see her.
One afternoon Jenny went into Francesca’s room to look for
some turpentine. Francesca always took whatever she needed
from Jenny’s belongings, but she never put the things back.
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