"I only said 'Ylajali' . . . it's all right. Continue . . ."
She lived up in St Olav's Place, lonely enough, together with her mother, to whom one couldn't talk because she was so deaf. Was there anything odd in her liking to get out for a little?
"No, not at all," I replied.
"No? well, what then?"
I could hear by her voice that she was smiling.
Hadn't she a sister?
Yes; an older sister. But, by-the-way, how did I know that? She had gone to Hamburg.
"Yes; five weeks ago." From where did I learn that she had a sister?
I didn't learn it at all; I only asked.
We kept silence. A man passes us, with a pair of shoes under his arm; otherwise, the street is empty as far as we can see. Over at the Tivoli a long row of coloured lamps are burning. It no longer snows; the sky is clear.
"Gracious! don't you freeze without an overcoat?" inquires the lady, suddenly looking at me.