Quicksand
a reasonableness that was wasted on the miserable girl before him, was nonsense, pure nonsense.
With a shaking sigh and a frantic dab at her eyes, in which had come a despairing look, she had agreed that perhaps it was foolish, but she couldn‘t help it. “Can‘t you, won‘t you understand, Uncle Poul?” she begged, with a pleading look at the kindly worldly man who at that moment had been thinking that this strange exotic niece of his wife‘s was indeed charming. He didn‘t blame Olsen for taking it rather hard.
The thought passed. She was weeping. With no effort at restraint. Charming, yes. But insufficiently civilized. Impulsive. Imprudent. Selfish.
“Try, Helga, to control yourself,” he had urged gently. He detested tears. “If it distresses you so, we won‘t talk of it again. You, of course, must do as you yourself wish. Both your aunt and I want only that you should be
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