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“How can you be bothered with them? — they are all drunk,”
he added.
Jenny laughed in a languid way.
“So am I, I suppose.”
Heggen did not answer. They had reached the Piazza di
Spagna when she stopped:
“You are not coming with us, then, Gunnar?”
“Yes, if you absolutely insist on going on — otherwise not.”
“You need not come for my sake. I can get home all right,
you know.”
“If you go, I go — I am not going to let you walk about
alone with those people in that state.”
She laughed — the same limp, indifferent laugh.
“You will be too tired to sit to me tomorrow.”
“Oh, I shall be able to sit all right.”
“You won’t; and anyhow, I shan’t be able to work properly
if I have to walk about all night.”
Jenny shrugged her shoulders, but started to walk in the
direction of Babuino — the opposite way to the rest of the
party.
Two policemen passed them; otherwise there was not a living
soul to be seen. The fountain was playing in front of the
Strada di Spagna, lying white with moonlight and bordered by
black and silver glittering evergreen shrubs.
Suddenly Jenny spoke in a hard and scornful voice:
“I know you mean it kindly, Gunnar. It is good of you to
try and take care of me, but it is not worth while.”
He walked on in silence.
“No, not if you have no will of your own,” he said after a
while.
“Will” — imitating him.
“Yes; I said will.”
Her breath came quick and sharp, as if she wanted to answer,
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