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 —you know that. I mean to try and work again, even if the result is poor in the beginning. I have always the comfort of knowing that one need not live longer than one cares to."

She put on her hat again, finding a veil for her tear-stained face:

"Let us go and have something to eat—you must be starving by this time—it is very late."

Gunnar Heggen blushed all over his face. Now she mentioned it, he felt awfully hungry, and was ashamed of himself for admitting it at such a moment as this. He dried the tears from his wet, hot cheeks and took his hat from the table.

Y tacit agreement they passed the restaurant where they usually had their meals and where there were always a number of their countrymen, and, continuing their way in the twilight towards the Tiber, they crossed the bridge into the old Borgo quarters. In a corner by the Piazza San Pietro there was a small trattoria where they had dined after going to the Vatican, and they went there.

They ate in silence. When she had finished Jenny lit a cigarette, and sat sipping her claret and rubbing her fingers with the fragrant tangerine peel. Heggen smoked, staring in front of him. They were almost alone in the place.

"Would you like to read a letter I got from Cesca the other day?" asked Jenny suddenly.

"Yes. I saw there was a letter for you from her—from Stockholm, is it not?"

"Yes; they are back there and going to stay the winter." Jenny took the letter out of her bag and handed it to him.

",—You must not be angry