not impossible that
I might work up my finale through the course of the evening, if I only
had a candle. My head was clear once more. Thoughts came and went as
usual, and I did not suffer particularly; I did not even feel hunger so
badly as some hours previously. I could hold out well till the next
day. Perhaps I might be able to get a candle on credit, if I applied to
the provision shop and explained my situation--I was so well known in
there; in the good old days, when I had the means to do it, I used to
buy many a loaf there. There was no doubt I could raise a candle on the
strength of my honest name; and for the first time for ages I took to
brushing my clothes a little, got rid as well as the darkness allowed
me of the loose hairs on my collar, and felt my way down the stairs.

When I got outside in the street it occurred to me that I might perhaps
rather ask for a loaf. I grew irresolute, and stopped to consider. "On
no account," I replied to myself at last; I was unfortunately not in a
condition to bear food. It would only be a repetition of the same old
story--visions, and presentiments, and mad notions. My article would
never get finished, and it was a question of going to the "Commandor"
before he had time to forget me. On no account whatever! and I decided
upon the candle. With that I entered the shop.

A woman is standing at the counter making purchases; several small
parcels in different sorts of paper are lying in front of her. The
shopman, who knows me, and knows what I usually buy, leaves the woman,
and packs without much ado a loaf in a piece of paper and shoves it
over to me.

"No, thank you, it was really a candle I wanted this evening," I say. I
say it very quietly and humbly, in order not to vex him and spoil my
chance of getting what I want.

My answer confuses him; he turns quite cross at my unexpected words; it
was the first time I had ever demanded anything but a loaf from him.

"Well then, you must wait a while," he says at last, and busies himself
with the woman's parcels again.

She receives her wares and pays for them---gives him a florin, out of
which she gets the change, and goes out. Now the shop-boy and I are
alone. He says:

"So it was a candle you wanted, eh?" He tears open a package, and takes
one out for me. He looks at me, and I look at him; I can't get my
request over my lips.

"Oh yes, that's true; you paid, though!" he says suddenly. He simply
asserts that I had paid.