ter. I can half distinguish the
lighthouse director's announcement down near the door, and near the
window it is already so light that I could, in case of necessity, see
to write. I set to work immediately to make a fair copy of what I have
written.

An intense, peculiar exhalation of light and colour emanates from these
fantasies of mine. I start with surprise as I note one good thing after
another, and tell myself that this is the best thing I have ever read.
My head swims with a sense of satisfaction; delight inflates me; I grow
grandiose.

I weigh my writing in my hand, and value it, at a loose guess, for five
shillings on the spot.

It could never enter any one's head to chaffer about five shillings; on
the contrary, getting it for half-a-sovereign might be considered
dirt-cheap, considering the quality of the thing.

I had no intention of turning off such special work gratis. As far as I
was aware, one did not pick up stories of that kind on the wayside, and
I decided on half-a-sovereign.

The room brightened and brightened. I threw a glance towards the door,
and could distinguish without particular trouble the skeleton-like
letters of Miss Andersen's winding-sheet advertisement to the right of
it. It was also a good while since the clock has struck seven.

I rose and came to a standstill in the middle of the floor. Everything
well considered, Mrs. Gundersen's warning came rather opportunely. This
was, properly speaking, no fit room for me: there were only common
enough green curtains at the windows, and neither were there any pegs
too many on the wall. The poor little rocking-chair over in the corner
was in reality a mere attempt at a rocking-chair; with the smallest
sense of humour, one might easily split one's sides with laughter at
it. It was far too low for a grown man, and besides that, one needed,
so to speak, the aid of a boot-jack to get out of it. To cut it short,
the room was not adopted for the pursuit of things intellectual, and I
did not intend to keep it any longer. On no account would I keep it. I
had held my peace, and endured and lived far too long in such a den.

Buoyed up by hope and satisfaction, constantly occupied with my
remarkable sketch, which I drew forth every moment from my pocket and
re-read, I determined to set seriously to work with my flitting. I took
out my bundle, a red handkerchief that contained a few clean collars
and some crumpled newspapers, in which I had occasional