It was like reading old newspapers; yet my heart beat faster
with each one I opened.
Life there in the city runs its course, only it has nothing more to do
with me, and before long I shall have dropped out of memory like one
long dead. All these hidden fears, all this solicitude, these good
wishes, preachings and forebodings--there is not a single genuine
feeling among the whole of them!
Margethe Ernst is the only one of my old friends who is sincere and
does not let herself be carried away by false sentiment. She writes
cynically, brutally even: "An injection of morphia would have had just
the same effect on you; but everyone to his own taste."
As to Lillie, with her simple, gushing nature, she tries to write
lightly and cheerfully, but one divines her tears between the lines. She
wishes me every happiness, and assures me she will take Malthe under her
motherly wing.
"He is quiet and taciturn, but fortunately much engrossed with his plans
for the new hospital which will keep him in Denmark for some years to
come.
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