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 it constantly. He was reminded again of his desire to contrive some sort of cage not only for birds, but for the wind also.

This time Barka did not reply as usual that there could be no doubt of it that since people had been able to trap the thunder, he surely could carry out his plan for the wind. He observed her silence and stepped closer to her. “What is the matter, our Barka, that you talk so little nowadays?” he asked her, patting her bandaged hand and sadly gazing into her sorrowful eyes.

To-day for the first time he noted that she was pale and troubled. She scarcely had any breath left in her. For the first time, perhaps, he had an inkling of what was in store for her.

“It won’t last long, this way,” Barka consoled him and attempted her customary bright, agreeable smile, which, with effort, she achieved. “This will all change soon. It seems to me I’d get well very quickly if I could only eat some sour berries.”

"You can have all you want of those now. In the grove it looks as if the ground had a red coverlet. I saw them when I went there this morning to cut saplings to make bars for the cage.”

“Those in our grove wouldn’t refresh and strengthen me. If berries are to help me, they must come from Bezděz itself. There every morning the Virgin Mary herself sprinkles them with dew purposely for the sick.”