She knew he would be making ironical,
playful remarks as he wandered in hell--if he were in the humour. And
that pleased her immensely. It seemed like a rising above the
dreariness of actuality, the monotony of contingencies.
They played till the sun went down, in pure amusement, careless and
timeless. Then, as the little sledge twirled riskily to rest at the
bottom of the slope,
'Wait!' he said suddenly, and he produced from somewhere a large
thermos flask, a packet of Keks, and a bottle of Schnapps.
'Oh Loerke,' she cried. 'What an inspiration! What a COMBLE DE JOIE
INDEED! What is the Schnapps?'
He looked at it, and laughed.
'Heidelbeer!' he said.
'No! From the bilberries under the snow. Doesn't it look as if it were
distilled from snow. Can you--' she sniffed, and sniffed at the
bottle--'can you smell bilberries? Isn't it wonderful? It is exactly as
if one could smell them through the snow.'
She stamped her foot lightly on the ground. He kneeled down and
whistled, and put his ear to the snow.
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