Selma Lagerlöf

The Emperor of Portugallia Selma Lagerlöf

Whereupon an even worse fear seized him. Taking his hands from before his face he wrung them so hard that the knuckles fairly cracked. "Up to this we've managed to scratch along pretty well, because Katrina, has been free to go out and work, the same as myself, but now she'll have to sit at home and take care of that young one." He sat staring in front of him as hopelessly as if he had beheld Famine itself stalking across the yard and making straight for his hut. "Well!" said he, bringing his two fists down on the chopping-block by way of emphasis. "I just want to say that if I'd only known at the time when Eric of Falla came to me and offered to let me build on his ground, and gave me some old timber for a little shack, if I had only known then that this would happen, I'd have said no to the whole business, and gone on living in the stable-loft at Falla for the rest of my days." He knew these were strong words, but felt no inclination to take them back.