They have
probably dreamed about a freer and richer life than this slavery in an
office where their best efforts are swallowed up in anonymity, and where
they often have to repress themselves and their convictions in order to
keep their jobs. It might be well if these men were given the approbation
they deserved; it might even be profitable; it might bear fruit in a free
and honest newspaper literature. What have we at present? An irresponsible
press, lacking convictions and clearly defined principles, its policy
dictated by personal preferences--by even worse motives. No; a truly great
journalist ranks far higher than a poet."
Just then the door opened and Irgens and Miss Aagot entered. They stopped
by the door and looked around; Aagot showed no sign of embarrassment, but
when she caught sight of Coldevin, she stepped forward quickly, with a
smile on lips that were already opened as if to speak. Suddenly she
stopped. Coldevin stared at her and fumbled mechanically at his buttons.
This lasted a few moments. Irgens and Aagot went over to the table, shook
hands, and sat down. Aagot gave Coldevin her hand. Milde wanted to know
what they would have.
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