Aagot was quite equal to the
occasion; she did not show the slightest trace of confusion. She got up
and began to walk away. And now she began to think; the tears were
dripping from her long lashes, and she whispered, dully, despairingly:
"God forgive me! What have I done?"
Irgens wanted to speak, to say something that would soften her despair. It
had happened because it had to happen. He was so unspeakably fond of her;
she surely knew he was in earnest.... And he really looked as if he were
greatly in earnest.
But Aagot heard nothing; she walked on, repeating these desperate words.
Instinctively she took the way down toward the city. It seemed as if she
were hurrying home.
"Dearest Aagot, listen a moment--"
She interrupted violently:
"Be quiet, will you!"
And he was silent.
Just as they emerged from the park a violent gust tore her hat from her
hair. She made an effort to recover it, but too late; it was blown back
into the park. Irgens caught up with it as it was flattened against a
tree.
She stood still for a moment; then she, too, began to run in pursuit, and
when at last they met by the tree her despair was less poignant.
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