But at school.... He was never absentminded or unattentive, for that
might have brought the quick clutch of the elder Miss Ahlberg's bony
hand into his own supersensitive crop of hair, and most of what was
going on had enough interest in itself to prevent his mind from straying
far afield. He knew the names of his fellow pupils. He played with those
of his own age, and he had likes and dislikes, as was natural. But
through it all he moved as through a mist, seeing only the thing
immediately at hand, and losing sight of everything the moment he had
passed it. The three years spent in that school seemed to telescope into
each other so that soon afterwards he found himself unable to tell if a
thing had happened during the first or last of those years. Nor did the
things he remembered have any connection with the school as a rule, and
out of all the boys and girls he met there not one remained distinct in
his memory as did the figure of Harald from the first school. When he
left the school to go home for the day, he was done with it, and nothing
followed him but what was stored in his head. And that, too, seemed
forgotten at the time, to be re-discovered later with a sense of
pleasant surprise.

And all that time things were happening to him at home and elsewhere
that, as far as importance went, stood in curious contrast to his
quickly forgotten experiences at school--things that burnt themselves
into his mind as a part of its permanent contents....



VIII

There was not a private bathroom to be found in Stockholm in those days.
One washed hands and face and neck whenever compelled to, and some