The explanation was there in the flesh—with a shawl about her head and beautifully varnished clogs on her feet. The explanation was Madam Hermansen, who had the backstairs entry of every house in Knarreby. Whatever was thrown into her as into a sink at one place was gladly used to wash up the coffee cups in at another. She smelt a little of everything, like a sewer, and was as useful and as indispensable.
In addition to this comprehensive occupation for the public weal, she found time to cherish great amorous passions for all the big fat men in the town. She walked about, smiling and confident, from group to group, shaking her hips at every step, and sidling round people like a horse preparing to kick.
“That leg of yours still bad?” asked little Dr. Hoff.
“Yes, much the same.”
“H’m,” said Hoff, a little annoyed. “Mind you keep it clean. That’s the only thing to do.”
“I suppose it’s no use trying an earth cure?”
“Earth cure? What on earth’s that?”
“Why, it’s just an earth cure, that’s all. It was Egholm’s been plaguing me to try it. But he ... well, I’m not sure his intentions are really decent like and proper. I know how he’s been with me sometimes ... and his poor wife....”
“What’s he want you to do with the leg?” asked Hoff, his eyes glittering behind his glasses.