ind one that I might try for.

A grocer in Groenlandsleret wanted a man every week for a couple of
hours' book-keeping; remuneration according to agreement. I noted my
man's address, and prayed to God in silence for this place. I would
demand less than any one else for my work; sixpence was ample, or
perhaps fivepence. That would not matter in the least.

On going home, a slip of paper from my landlady lay on my table, in
which she begged me to pay my rent in advance, or else move as soon as
I could. I must not be offended, it was absolutely a necessary request.
Friendlily Mrs. Gundersen.

I wrote an application to Christy the grocer, No. 13 Groenlandsleret,
put it in an envelope, and took it to the pillar at the corner. Then I
returned to my room and sat down in the rocking-chair to think, whilst
the darkness grew closer and closer. Sitting up late began to be
difficult now.

I woke very early in the morning. It was still quite dark as I opened
my eyes, and it was not till long after that I heard five strokes of
the clock down-stairs. I turned round to doze again, but sleep had
down. I grew more and more wakeful, and lay and thought of a thousand
things.

Suddenly a few good sentences fitted for a sketch or story strike me,
delicate linguistic hits of which I have never before found the equal.
I lie and repeat these words over to myself, and find that they are
capital. Little by little others come and fit themselves to the
preceding ones. I grow keenly wakeful. I get up and snatch paper and
pencil from the table behind my bed. It was as if a vein had burst in
me; one word follows another, and they fit themselves together
harmoniously with telling effect. Scene piles on scene, actions and
speeches bubble up in my brain, and a wonderful sense of pleasure
empowers me. I write as one possessed, and fill page after page,
without a moment's pause.

Thoughts come so swiftly to me and continue to flow so richly that I
miss a number of telling bits, that I cannot set down quickly enough,
although I work with all my might. They continue to invade me; I am
full of my subject, and every word I write is inspired.

This strange period lasts--lasts such a blessedly long time before it
comes to an end. I have fifteen--twenty written pages lying on my knees
before me, when at last I cease and lay my pencil aside, So sure as
there is any worth in these pages, so sure am I saved. I jump out of
bed and dress myself, It grows ligh