The Road to Damascus by August Strindberg
page 291 of 339 (85%)
page 291 of 339 (85%)
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course, and her love a broken ray of that great light--that great
eternal light--that warms and loves. ... That loves. ... TEMPTER. What, old friend, must we stand here like two youths and spell out the riddles of love? CONFESSOR (coming in). What's this chatterer saying? He's talked away his whole life; and never done anything. TEMPTER. I wanted to be a priest, but had no vocation. CONFESSOR. Whilst you're waiting for it, help me to find a drunkard who's drowned himself in the bog. It must be near here, because I've been following his tracks till now. TEMPTER. Then it's the man lying beneath that brushwood there. CONFESSOR (picking up some twigs, and disclosing a fully clothed corpse, with a white, young face.) Yes, it is! (He grows pensive as he looks at the dead man.) TEMPTER. Who was he? CONFESSOR. It's extraordinary! TEMPTER. He must have been a good-looking man. And quite young. CONFESSOR. Oh no. He was fifty-four. And when I saw him a week ago, he looked like sixty-four. His eyes were as yellow as the slime of a garden snail and bloodshot from drunkenness; but also because |
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