"No, my dear. What are you thinking of? Though, perhaps--you might let me
have a couple of hundred crowns. Thanks, very much!" Suddenly she spies
the old rubber shoe with nails and junk, and she cries, full of curiosity:
"Whatever is this?" She lets go her husband's arm and brings the rubber
over to the table. "Whatever have you got here, Milde?" She rummages in
the rubbish with her white fingers, calls Irgens over, finds one strange
thing after another, and asks questions concerning them. "Will somebody
please tell me what this is good for?"
She has fished out an umbrella-handle which she throws aside at once; then
a lock of hair enclosed in paper. "Look--a lock of somebody's hair! Come
and see!"
Milde joined her.
"Leave that alone!" he said and took his cigar out of his mouth. "However
did that get in there? Did you ever--hair from my last love, so to speak!"
This was sufficient to make everybody laugh. The Journalist shouted:
"But have you seen Milde's collection of corsets? Out with the corsets,
Milde!"
And Milde did not refuse; he went into one of the side rooms and brought
forth his package. There were both white and brown ones; the white ones
were a little grey, and Mrs.
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