She began walking down the path from the hut; she took a few small hurried steps, turned round, her face still pale as death, and moaned: “And let me never see your face again.”
XXIII
Leaves were yellowing; the potato-plants had grown to full height and stood in flower; the shooting season came round again; I shot hare and ptarmigan and grouse; one day I shot an eagle. Calm, open sky, cool nights, many clear, clear tones and dear sounds in the woods and fields. The earth was resting, vast and peaceful...
“I have not heard anything from Herr Mack about the two guillemots I shot,” I said to the Doctor.
“You can thank Edwarda for that,” he said. “I know. I heard that she set herself against it.”
“I do not thank her for it,” said I...
Indian summer—Indian summer. The stars lay like belts in through the yellowing woods; a new star came every day. The moon showed like a shadow; a shadow of gold dipped in silver...
“Heaven help you, Eva, are you married?”