They had each their own little ways, but it was
rarely they quarrelled, and never for long at a time; it was soon made
up. And many a time Inger would suddenly be just as she had been in
the old days, working hard in the cowshed or in the field; as if she
had had a relapse into health again. And at such times Isak would look
at his wife with grateful eyes; if he had been the sort of man to
speak his mind at once, he might have said, "H'm. What does this mean,
heh?" or something of the sort, just to show he appreciated it. But
he waited too long, and his praise came too late. So Inger, no doubt,
found it not worth while, and did not care to keep it up.
She might have had children till past fifty; as it was, she was
perhaps hardly forty now. She had learned all sorts of things at the
institution--had she also learned to play tricks with herself? She
had come back so thoroughly trained and educated after her long
association with the other murderesses; maybe the men had taught her
something too--the gaolers, the doctors. She told Isak one day what
one young medical man had said of her little crime: "Why should it be
a criminal offence to kill children--ay, even healthy children? They
were nothing but lumps of flesh after all.
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