"You also?"
"What do you mean by 'also'?"
"That is the disease of our time. They call it 'the mills of God.'"
At the word "God" he makes a grimace and answers, "Yes, it is a queer age we live in; the world turns round and round."
"Or rather it is the re-entrance of the Powers."
The Christmas week is over. In consequence of the holidays my table companions are scattered over the neighbourhood of Lund. One fine morning my friend, the doctor and psychologist, comes and shows me a letter from our friend the poet, containing an invitation to his parents' house, a country property a few miles from the town. I decline to go as I dislike travelling.
"But he is unhappy," says the doctor.
"What is the matter with him?"
"Sleeplessness; you know he has lately been keeping Christmas."