“He’s not going out this evening, just down two flights of stairs to visit his neighbour behind the door marked V. LEGÉN. He can’t hear a sound; he has rung the bell on two previous occasions, but no one has answered. He tries again. This time someone is coming; then there is a rattling sound. Legén has put the chain on the door, but he opens it just a fraction. ‘Evening,’ says Jan, holding up the cup. His neighbour doesn’t say a word. ‘My name is Jan Hauger … I live upstairs,’ Jan goes on. ‘I w...ondered if you could spare some sugar? I’m making a cake.’ Legén stares at him like a weary boxer facing his arch enemy. He’s not in a good mood today. But he takes the cup and turns away. Jan silently steps forward and peers into the hallway. It is dark and untidy, and it stinks of tobacco. The fabric bag he last saw down in the cellar is lying on the floor, next to the shoe rack. The text is clearly visible now: ST PATRICIA’S LAUNDRY. He was right. Jan is wearing a satisfied smile when his neighbour returns with the cup half-full of sugar.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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