As I unpacked I thought of my cosy room at Knapfs',
and as I thought I took my head out of my trunk and sank
down on the floor with a satin blouse in one hand, and a
walking boot in the other, and wanted to bellow with
loneliness. There came to me dear visions of the
friendly old yellow brocade chair, and the lamplight, and
the fireplace, and Frau Nirlanger, and the Pfannkuchen.
I thought of the aborigines. In my homesick mind their
bumpy faces became things of transcendent beauty. I
could have put my head on their combined shoulders and
wept down their blue satin neckties. In my memory of
Frau Knapf it seemed to me that I could discern a dim,
misty halo hovering above her tightly wadded hair. My
soul went out to her as I recalled the shining
cheek-bones, and the apron, and the chickens stewed in
butter. I would have given a year out of my life to have
heard that good-natured, "Nabben'." One aborigine had
been wont to emphasize his after-dinner arguments with a
toothpick brandished fiercely between thumb and finger.
The brandisher had always annoyed me. Now I thought of
him with tenderness in my heart and reproached myself for
my fastidiousness. I should have wept if I had not had
a walking boot in one hand, and a satin blouse in the
other.
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