'If you saw nothing you cannot forget it,' persisted the dissatisfied man.
'I say I cannot—it is what I say.'
'That will do, August,' I said; 'I wish to drive on.'
The surly youth had been listening with his chin on his hand. He now removed his chin, stretched his hand across to me sitting safely among my cushions, and said, 'Pay me.'
'Pay him, Gertrud,' I said; and having been paid he turned his horse and drove back to Casnewitz scornful to the last.
'Go on, August,' I ordered. 'Go on. We can hold this thing on with our feet. Get on to your box and go on.'
The energy in my voice penetrated at last through his agitation. He got up on to his box, settled himself in a flustered sort of fashion, the tourists fell apart staring their last and hardest at a vision about to vanish, and we drove away.
'It is impossible to forget that which has not been,' called out the dissatisfied man as August passed him.
'It is what I say—it is what I say!' cried August, irritated.
Nothing could have kept me in Putbus after this.