Limp and utterly dispirited, Egholm walked up with Karlsen to the station. A strange feeling of detachment had come over him, and the inclination to weep that he always felt after great excitement.
Karlsen walked a couple of paces ahead, talking gaily over his shoulder.
“What say?” queried Egholm against the wind. The handbag with edifying works at six kroner cloth boards weighed heavily in his numbed hand.
“I say, it’s a good thing we’re near the end of the month.”
“Yes,” agreed Egholm. “But what d’you mean?”
“Pay day, my dear man. And I can do with it!”
“But I thought—I thought the work was voluntary. It says in the Rules of the Brotherhood....”
“Well, what d’you expect me to live on?”
“Why, gifts.”