'Of unwieldily big ones, of course I mean.'
'And what do you understand by unwieldily big ones?' I asked, still musing on the Bernhards.
'Any number above three. And for most of these women even three is excessive.'
The images of the six Bernhards troubled me so much that I could not speak.
'Look,' said Charlotte, 'at the women here. All of them, or any of them. The one at the opposite table, for instance. Do you see the bulk of the poor soul? Do you see how difficult existence must be made for her by that circumstance alone? How life can be nothing to her but uninterrupted panting?'
'Perhaps she doesn't walk enough,' I suggested. 'She ought to walk round Rügen once a year instead of casting anchor in the flesh-pots of Sellin.'
'She looks fifty,' continued Charlotte. 'And why does she look fifty?'
'Perhaps because she is fifty.'
'Nonsense. She is quite young. But those four awful children are hers, and no doubt there is a baby, or perhaps two babies, upstairs, and they have finished her. How is such a woman to realise herself? How can she work out her own salvation? What energies she has must be spent on her children. And if ever she tries to think, she must fall asleep from sheer torpor of brain. Now why should she be deprived of the use of her soul?'
'Charlotte, are you not obscure? Here, take my pudding. I don't like it.'