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walking habit was fashionable enough, but did not fit. The
figure had no firmness; she was well covered, and at the same
time the shoulders and hips were angular. The face under a
big hat with ostrich feathers was old, with bad teeth, and
furrows round the mouth. She was talking, and her friend listened
interestedly, sitting there heavily and painfully enceinte, with
knees apart and her hands in a colossal muff. The face was
originally pretty, but fat and red, and with a treble chin.
“I have to lock up the cheese in the sideboard; if it goes
into the kitchen only the rind is left the next day — a big piece
of Gruyère costing nearly three kroner.”
“I quite believe it.”
“And then there’s another thing. She is very fond of eggs.
The other day I went into her bedroom — she is such a pig and
her room is very smelly; the bed had not been made for I don’t
know how long. ‘Really, Solveig,’ I said, lifting the blankets,
and what do you think I found? Three eggs and a paper of
sugar in the bed. She said she had bought it herself — and
perhaps she had.”
“I don’t think so,” said the other.
“The sugar was in a paper bag, so she may have bought it,
but the eggs she had certainly taken, and I gave her a scolding.
Last Saturday we were to have rice pudding. When I went
into the kitchen I found the rice boiling on the gas and quite
burnt, while she was sitting in her room doing needlework. I
called her while I was stirring the rice, and what do you think
I found in the spoon? An egg, if you please. She boils eggs
for herself with the rice! I had to laugh, but did you ever
hear anything so dirty? I gave her a piece of my mind.
Don’t you think she deserved it?”
“Certainly. Servants are a bother. What do you think
mine did the other day? ...”
They had also been longing for love when they were young
girls — their ideal of love was a smart, straight lad with a
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