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Ebers, Georg, 1837-1898

"Stories by Foreign Authors: Scandinavian"

That the love-fire of my
heart would not insure the faithful being at my side from being
frozen was soon made clearly sensible to me by an involuntary
shudder. More dejected than ever, I rose up and walked a few times
about my room (that is to say, two steps right forward, and then
turn back again). The sense of my condition followed me like the
shadow on the wall, and for the first time in my life I felt
myself cast down, and threw a gloomy look on my dark future. I had
no patron, therefore could not reckon upon promotion for a long
time; consequently, also, not upon my own bread--on a friend--a
wife, I mean.
"But what in all the world," said I yet once more seriously to
myself, "what helps beating one's brains?" Yet once more I tried
to get rid of all anxious thoughts. "If, however, a Christian soul
could only come to me this evening! Let it be whoever it would--
friend or foe--it would be better than this solitude. Yes, even if
an inhabitant of the world of spirits opened the door, he would be
welcome to me! What was that? Three blows on the door! I will not,
however, believe it--again three!" I went and opened; there was
nobody there; only the wind went howling up and down the stairs. I
hastily shut the door again, thrust my hands into my pockets, and
went up and down for a while, humming aloud. Some moments
afterwards I fancied I heard a sigh--I was silent, and listened,--
again there was very evidently a sigh--and yet once again, so deep
and so mournful, that I exclaimed with secret terror, "Who is
there?" No answer.


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