“By something special you mean of course a blemish. Yes, I was really fascinated by a little scar she had on her forehead. It was a very decorative scar, because it drew up one eyebrow a trifle and at first glance gave her a lively and somewhat mocking appearance.”
Axelson’s whole countenance glowed.
“Splendid, splendid! I sewed that scar together. I know as much as you like of the lady in question. The doctor is the whole town’s father confessor.”
Modin made a gesture of refusal with both hands.
“I wish to know absolutely nothing, I beg you, nothing!”
But Axelson was merciless.
“This much you must know at any rate, that she got the scar when she fell off a bicycle. And that she lived with her parents in the white-plastered two-story house. And that she worked at the post office from nine to one. And furthermore that she had probably just been betrothed in that very dress. You see that I know my community.”
“But all this is most uninteresting, my dear Axelson.”
“Not altogether, my dear brother, not altogether.”
Axelson dived back into his cabin.