and gave me the most mad Indskydelser, which I lystred after the Tour. It nytted not, how much I said to myself, that I bore myself silly ad, I did the dumbest Grimaces bag lady’s Ryg, and I hosted furious Nogle Gange, as I passered happen. Thus wandering pretty obvious forward, always in Nogle Skridts Forspring, felt my hands in my Ryg’s eyes, and I involuntarily dukked me down af shame that the weather might holder to Plage. Suffered by fik I suffered a strange Sensation that af be far away, other sites her, I’m a semi-indefinite sharing of sea af feeling, that it was not me, that gik there on Stone Tile founders and dukked me down.
Nogle Minutes after the woman arrived at Pascha Boglade, I have already standset at the first window, and as she walks past me, I’m back and træder gent saws:
“They lose their Bog, Mistress.”
“Nej, the Bog?” Victory she Anxiety. “Can you understand what it is for a Bog, he is talking about?”
And she standser. I sweets me cruelly of Confusion may, in our hands this Rådvildhed’s eyes enchant me. Hands Thought can not believe my little desperate Indictment, she has suffered no Bog, not a single sheet af a Bog, and alligevel she leads in their pockets, looking down gentagne Walk ind in Hænderne,