Page:Hunger (Hamsun).djvu/129

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113
Hunger

you see, everything is of ruby—Ylajali, Ylajali! that swelling crimson silken divan! Ah, how passionately she breathes. Kiss me—loved one—more—more! Your arms are like pale amber, your mouth blushes. . . . Waiter, I asked for a plate of beef!"

The sun gleamed in through the window, and I could hear the horses below chewing oats. I sat and mumbled over my chip gaily, glad at heart as a child.

I kept all the time feeling for my manuscript. It wasn't really in my thoughts, but instinct told me it was there—'twas in my blood to remember it, and I took it out.

It had got wet, and I spread it out in the sun to dry; then I took to wandering up and down the room. How depressing everything looked! Small scraps of tin shavings were trodden into the floor; there was not a chair to sit upon, not even a nail in the bare walls. Everything had been brought to my "Uncle's," and consumed. A few sheets of paper lying on the table, covered with thick dust, were my sole possession; the old green blanket on the bed was lent to me by Hans Pauli some months ago. . . . Hans Pauli! I snap my fingers. Hans Pauli