Without there was sunshine and a sharp wind--it was cold, but the bright sparkles that besprinkled him from house-eaves and from wind-swept trees were drops of water thawed out and frozen again in the air.
"What is the point of this detail" in margin.
Anything else, Miss Undset? Have I come more than half-way, have you brought me Five. Hundred. Sixty. Two. Pages to this? A distinction without a difference, without meaning, between ice droplets?
It was then, only then, in that half-paragraph on page five hundred and sixty two that what I think is clarity came to me: There is no purpose, no meaning to Kristin Labransdatter other than, deeper than, the title of the book. Unconsciously by Sigrid Undset the book illuminates the ennui, the meaninglessness, of "Northern life". I am now on page five hundred and eighty.
"What is the point of this detail" in margin.
Anything else, Miss Undset? Have I come more than half-way, have you brought me Five. Hundred. Sixty. Two. Pages to this? A distinction without a difference, without meaning, between ice droplets?
It was then, only then, in that half-paragraph on page five hundred and sixty two that what I think is clarity came to me: There is no purpose, no meaning to Kristin Labransdatter other than, deeper than, the title of the book. Unconsciously by Sigrid Undset the book illuminates the ennui, the meaninglessness, of "Northern life". I am now on page five hundred and eighty.
