Hunger by Knut Hamsun
page 76 of 226 (33%)
page 76 of 226 (33%)
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violently.
I railed at myself for my poverty, called myself abusive names, invented furious designations--rich, rough nuggets--in a vein of abuse with which I overwhelmed myself. I kept on at this until I was nearly home. On coming to the door I discovered I had dropped my keys. "Oh, of course," I muttered to myself, "why shouldn't I lose my keys? Here I am, living in a yard where there is a stable underneath and a tinker's workshop up above. The door is locked at night, and no one, no one can open it; therefore, why should I not lose my keys? "I am as wet as a dog--a little hungry--ah, just ever such a little hungry, and slightly, ay, absurdly tired about my knees; therefore, why should I not lose them? "Why, for that matter, had not the whole house flitted out to Aker by the time I came home and wished to enter it?" ... and I laughed to myself, hardened by hunger and exhaustion. I could hear the horses stamp in the stables, and I could see my window above, but I could not open the door, and I could not get in. It had begun to rain again, and I felt the water soak through to my shoulders. At the Town Hall I was seized by a bright idea. I would ask the policeman to open the door. I applied at once to a constable, and earnestly begged him to accompany me and let me in, if he could. Yes, if he could, yes! But he couldn't; he had no key. The police keys were not there; they were kept in the Detective Department. |
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