"We all feel . . . a sort of fear . . . because we hear."
"Mary saw something, I expect."
"Come, girls, let's go to bed."
"Do you dare sleep alone in your room, Adeletje?"
"Yes, Gerdy . . . but leave the door open between us."
"Yes, that's nicer."
"Good-night then, darlings."
"Adeletje . . . you won't think any more of dying, will you?" said Gerdy, moist-eyed. "Perhaps I shall be dead before you are."
"Hush, darling! How can you talk like that? . . . I'm delicate and ugly. . . . You're strong, you're pretty."
"I may be dead first, for all that!" said Gerdy, sobbing.
"Gerdy, don't excite yourself so," said Marietje. "That's because we've been talking about it. Now you won't sleep all night."
"I dare say I shall be frightened to-night," said Gerdy. "If so, I'll wake you, Marietje, and creep into bed beside you."
"Very well, do. . . . And don't worry. . . ."
"Good-night, then. . . ."
"Good-night. . . ."
"Good-night. . . ."
Round the house the thaw wept; and in the night the sinewed grain of the ice broke and melted in weeping melancholy, with the added melancholy of the west wind blowing up heavy clouds, the west wind which came from very far and moaned softly along the walls and over the roof, rattling the tight-closed windows of the night. . . .
Inside the house reigned the darkness of repose
