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Strindberg, August, 1849-1912

"Married"

They spent the winter
in Stockholm in their little cabins. He amused himself by rigging boats
for his little boys or telling them stories of his adventures in China
and the South Sea Islands, while his wife sat by him, listening and
laughing at his funny tales. It was a charming room, that could not be
equalled in the whole world. It was crammed full of Japanese sunshades
and armour, miniature pagodas from India, bows and lances from Australia,
nigger drums and dried flying fish, sugar cane and opium pipes. Papa,
whose hair was growing thin at the top, did not feel very happy outside
his own four walls. Occasionally he played at draughts with his friend,
the auditor, and sometimes they had a game at Boston and drank a glass
of grog. At first his wife had joined in the game, but now that she had
four children, she was too busy; nevertheless, she liked to sit with the
players for a little and look at their cards, and whenever she passed
Papa's chair he caught her round the waist and asked her whether she
thought he ought to be pleased with his hand.
This time the corvette was to be away for six months. The captain did
not feel easy about it, for the children were growing up and the
responsibility of the big establishment was too much for Mama.


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