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Strindberg, August, 1849-1912

"Married"

As she stepped off the landing-bridge, he caught sight of
her little foot with which he had fallen in love, when it was encased
in a buttoned boot, shaped on natural lines; the shoe which she was
now wearing resembled a pointed Chinese slipper, and did not allow her
foot to move in those dancing rhythms which had bewitched him.
It was she and yet it was not she! He embraced and kissed her. She
enquired after his health and he asked after the children. Then they
walked up the strand.
Words came slowly and sounded dry and forced. How strange! They were
almost shy in each other's presence, and neither of them mentioned the
letters.
In the end he took heart of grace and asked:
"Would you like to go for a walk before sunset?"
"I should love to," she replied, taking his arm.
They went along the high-road in the direction of the little town. The
shutters of all the summer residences were closed; the gardens plundered.
Here and there an apple, hidden among the foliage, might still be found
hanging on the trees, but there wasn't a single flower in the flower
beds. The verandahs, stripped of their sunblinds, looked like skeletons;
where there had been bright eyes and gay laughter, silence reigned.
"How autumnal!" she said.


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