Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - XV. John
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absolutely still on my lap, he did not utter a sound
even when I opened his mouth to examine his
teeth. There was no doubt about the colour of
his tired joyless eyes, they were as blue as my
own. The door was flung open and with a terrific
curse the shoemaker reeled into the room blind
drunk. Behind him in the open door stood a
woman with a baby at her breast and two small
children hanging on to her skirt, staring stupefied
at me. The shoemaker said he was damned
glad to get rid of the boy, but he must have the
overdue money paid down first. He had written
several times to Madame Réquin but had had
no answer. Did she think he was going to feed
that wretched marmot with his own hard
earnings? His wife said that now since she had a
child of her own and two other children en pension
she was only too glad to get rid of the boy. She
muttered something to the shoemaker and their
eyes wandered attentively from my face to that
of the boy. The same terrified look had come
back in the boy’s eyes as soon they had entered
the room, his little hand I was holding in mine
was trembling slightly. Luckily I had
remembered in time it was Christmas and I produced a
wooden horse from my pocket. He took it in
silence, in an uninterested sort of way quite
unlike that of a child, he did not seem to care
much for it.
“Look,” said the shoemaker’s wife, “what a
beautiful horse your papa has brought you from
Paris, look, Jules!”
“His name is John,” said I.
“C’est un triste enfant,” said the shoemaker’s
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