While I gazed at her, wondering what she would say, my thoughts carried
on their subtle play. The subtle play from which they so seldom rest,
night or day. I thought: "How will the life after death be? Shall we
perceive, see, hear, smell, taste, touch then too? Surely the
perception can never be as positive as now - here. As clearly as I now
see these trees and her dear face - now, now while I am alive and awake
- so clearly I cannot perceive after death, without a body and sense."
While I was thinking this, she had come close up to me and I spoke
calmly:
"Is it you, Emmy?"
Then I looked at her, somewhat doubtfully, as though there were
something unusual about her, and she whisperingly replied:
"Not yet entirely."
These strange words did not surprise me. At the moment I understood
very well what she meant to say with them, and I asked:
"Will you stay?"
Then I wanted to fold her in my arms. But I saw her shake her head and,
with the slender fingers on her mouth, again motion as though I should
listen.
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