The mechanical act of opening that little gate, for no other reason than that it was a gate from a street into a private enclosure, brought suddenly to his mind his similar entrance into the Torp yard; and the vein of of amorousness in him, like a velvet-padded panther in a blind night, slipped wickedly past all the magic of yesterday’s walk and caused his heart to beat at the imaginary image – for he had never actually seen that provocative picture – of the young girl astride the tombstone!
[Ein paar Zeilen, eine beliebige Mitte, völlig verwoben mit einem viel größeren Text, der sich von hier (wie von fast überall) aus organisch verbreitert, gelassen mit Unsinn und Grabsteinen, aber nie dümmlich-vereinnahmend zwinkernd, wunderlich, hummelsummend.]