It was late at night. He had walked with
Tidemand a long time and told him everything. He was going to write a
letter to Aagot's parents, respectful and dignified, without reproaches.
He felt he ought to do that.
When he had finished this letter he read Aagot's once more. He wanted to
tear it to pieces and burn it up, but he paused and placed it in front of
him on the desk. It was at least a letter from her, the last. She had sat
there and written to him and thought of him while she wrote. She had held
the paper with her tiny hands, and there her pen had scratched. She had
probably wiped it on something and dipped it and written on. That letter
was for him, for no one else. Everybody had probably been in bed while she
wrote.
He took the ring out of its wrapping and looked at it for a long time. He
was sorry that he had lost his temper and said words which he now
regretted. He took them back, every one. Good-bye, then, Aagot....
And he placed Aagot's last letter with the others.
VI
Ole began to work hard again; he spent practically all his time in his
office. He lost flesh; he did not get out enough; his eyes became absent
and flickering.
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