And the phrase rang in his ear for some time.
Grumbach was indeed perturbed, and this sensation was the result of what
he had _not_ told his friend. _Gott!_ What was going on? He hadn't the
least idea where his footsteps were leading him. He went on, his teeth
set strongly on the horn mouthpiece of his pipe, his hands jammed in his
pockets. And after a time he woke. He was in the Adlergasse. And of all
that happy, noisy family, only he and Hermann left! In one of the open
doorways, for it was warm, a final caress of vanishing summer, he saw a
fat, youngish woman knitting woolen hose. Two or three children
sprawled about her knees. There was that petulance of lip and forehead
which marked the dissatisfaction of the coquette married.
"Tekla!" Grumbach murmured.
He was not conscious that he had paused, but the woman was. She eyed him
with the mild indifference of the bovine. Then she dropped her glance
and the shining needles clicked afresh. Grumbach forced his step onward.
And for this! He laughed discordantly. The woman looked up again
wonderingly. Now, why should this stranger laugh all by himself like
that?
Hans saw the sign of the Black Eagle, and directed his steps
thitherward. He sat down and ordered a beer, drinking it quickly.
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