"No! Stay where you are!" Olof would have stopped her, but she was out of the door in a moment. He rose to his feet, his head was throbbing, and he could hardly stand.
"Here you are—here's the beauty!"
A bright-eyed girl, young and slightly built, stood in the doorway smiling.
Olof started as if he had seen a ghost, the blood seemed to stand still in his veins; a cold weight seemed crushing him like an iceberg.
"You—Gazelle!" he cried in horror.
"Olof!"
"Oho, so you're old friends, it seems? Well, then, shake hands nicely.
Come along, man, give her a kiss…."
Olof felt the room growing dark before his eyes.
The girl turned deathly pale. She stood a moment, trembling from head to foot, then turned and fled. There was the sound of a key drawn from a lock, a door was slammed, and then silence.
Olof stood as if rooted to the spot, seeing nothing but a vague glimmer of light through a rent in blackness. Then at last he pulled himself together, snatched up his hat, and rushed out of the place as if pursued by demons.