I live so entirely to myself on this island that I have plenty of time
to ponder over my own lot and that of other people. Write to me when you
feel the wish or need to do so. I will reply to the best of my ability.
If I am very taciturn about my own affairs, it springs from an
idiosyncrasy that I cannot overcome. To make sure of my meaning I have
read my letter through once more, and find that it does not express all
I wanted to say. Never mind, it is true in the main. Only try to
understand that I do not wish to sit in judgment upon you, only to
throw some light on the situation. With all kind thoughts.

Yours,
ELSIE LINDTNER.

* * * * *

It snows, and snows without ceasing. The trees are already wrapped in
snow, like precious objects packed in wadding. The paths will soon be
heaped up to their level. The snowflakes are as large as daisies. When I
go out they flutter round me like a swarm of butterflies. Those that
fall into the water disappear like shooting stars, leaving no trace
behind.

The glass roof of my bedroom is as heavy as a coffin-lid. I sleep with
my window open, and when there comes a blast of wind my eyes are filled
with snow. This morning, when I woke, my pillow-case was as wet as
though I had been crying all night.

Torp already sees us in imagination snowed up and receiving our food
supplies down the chimney. She is preparing for the occasion. Her hair
smells as though she had been singeing chickens, and she has