Then she stared at Cordt’s name and her own, which were written down last and struck out again.
CHAPTER XXI
Finn stood at the window in Cordt’s room, with his head leaning against the frame, and looked down into the yard, where the porter’s children were playing.
He had come, as usual, to say good-morning and Cordt had told him to wait while he finished a letter. The letter had been sealed for some time, but Finn had not noticed it. He was watching the game down below and bending forward to see better.
Then the children were called in. He laid his head against the window-frame again and looked up at the grey sky. He thought of Hans, who had left for Paris that morning and was to remain abroad for two years.
Cordt sat silent. From where he was, he could see Finn’s profile: the forehead, which was so white, the eyelids, which lifted themselves so heavily, the mouth, which was so tired and so weak.
“Finn!”
Finn started and turned round.