NOW ONLY FOUR DAYS MORE—I COUNT THEM MORNING AND NIGHT. I AM GOOD FOR NOTHING—MY THOUGHTS ARE ALWAYS WITH YOU. YESTERDAY AT THE GALLERY I SAT ALONE IN THE ROOM WHERE THE MADONNA IS, PRETENDING ENTHUSIASM—WHILE THE REST WENT TO HOLBEIN—AND READ YOUR LETTER OVER AND OVER AGAIN. BUT IT MADE ME A LITTLE UNHAPPY TOO, FOR I SOON FOUND OUT THAT YOU HAD WRITTEN IT AT THREE DIFFERENT TIMES. IS IT REALLY SO HARD TO WRITE TO LULU?
HAVE YOU WORKED BETTER FOR WANT OF INTERRUPTION?—MY DAMNED INTERRUPTIONS, AS YOU CALLED THEM LAST WEEK WHEN YOU WERE SO ANGRY WITH ME. SHALL YOU HAVE A GREAT DEAL TO SHOW ME WHEN I COME HOME? NO—DON'T SAY YOU WILL—OR I SHALL HATE ZARATHUSTRA MORE THAN I DO ALREADY.
AND NOW ONLY TILL FRIDAY. THIS TIME YOU WILL MEET ME YES?—AND NOT COME TO THE STATION AN HOUR LATE, AS YOU SAID YOU DID LAST TIME. IF YOU ARE NOT THERE—I WARN YOU—I SHALL THROW MYSELF UNDER THE TRAIN. I AM WRITING, TO GRUNHUT. GET FLOWERS—THERE IS MONEY IN ONE OF THE VASES ON THE WRITING-TABLE. OH, IF YOU ONLY WILL, WE SHALL HAVE SUCH A HAPPY EVENING—IF ONLY YOU WILL. AND I SHALL NEVER LEAVE YOU AGAIN, NEVER AGAIN.
YOUR OWN LOVING, L.
Furst could not make out much of this; he was still spelling through the first paragraph when Krafft had finished. Schilsky, who had gone on dressing, kept a sharp eye on his friends—particularly on Krafft.
"Well?" he asked eagerly as the letter was laid down.
Krafft was silent, but Furst kissed his finger-tips to a large hanging photograph of the girl in question, and was facetious on the subject of dark, sallow women.
"And you, Heinz? What do you say?" demanded Schilsky with growing impatience.
Still Krafft did not reply, and Schilsky was mastered by a violent irritation.
"Why the devil can't you open your mouth? What's the matter with you? Have YOU anything like that to show—you Joseph, you?"