He simply must open his door whenever anybody
knocked, even if he were just composing some rare poem. He had to answer,
to expostulate: What, another bill? Well, put it there, and I will look at
it some time when I need a piece of paper. Oh, it is receipted? Well, then
I will have to refuse to accept it; I never have receipted bills lying
round. Take it back with my compliments....
Tidemand walked back and forth. An association of ideas made him think of
Hanka and the divorce. God knows what she was waiting for; she kept to
herself and spent all her time with the children, sewing slips and dresses
all day long. He had met her on the stairs once; she was carrying some
groceries in a bundle; she had stepped aside and muttered an excuse. They
had not spoken to each other.
What could she be thinking of? He did not want to drive her away, but this
could not continue. He was at a loss to understand why she took her meals
at home; she never went to a restaurant. Dear me, perhaps she had no more
money! He had sent the maid to her once with a couple of hundred crowns--
they could not last for ever! He glanced in his calendar and noticed that
it was nearly a month since he had had that settlement with Hanka; her
money must have been used up long ago.
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