and lacked subtlety; he made allusions, and said things like "Oh, yes,
that Miss Torsen, she's a fine one; I'll bet she's as strong as a man!"

And then he laughed, but with repressed fury. He followed her with gross
eyes wherever she went, and in order to assert himself and seem
indifferent, he would sing a song of the linesman's life whenever she was
about. But he might have saved himself the trouble. Miss Torsen was
stone-deaf to his songs.

And now it seemed she was going to stay at the resort out of sheer
defiance. We enjoyed her company no more than we had done before, but she
began to make herself agreeable to the lawyer, sitting by his work table
in the living room as he drew plans of houses. Such is the perverse
idleness of summer resorts.

* * * * *

So the days pass; they hold no further novelty for me, and I begin to
weary of them. Now and then comes a stranger who is going across the
fjeld, but things are no longer, I am told, as they were in other years,
when visitors came in droves. And things will not improve until we, too,
get roads and cars.

I have not troubled to mention it before this, but the neighboring valley
is called Stordalen (Great Valley), while ours is only called Reisa after
the river: the whole of the Reisa district is no more than an appendage.
Stordalen has all the advantages, even the name. But Paul, our host, calls
the neighboring valley Little Valley, because, says Paul, the people there
are so petty and avaricious.