After he had rowed the skiff out as far as Ulrica thought was
proper, he with many misgivings threw out his line.
"How strange it is my dear Fabian, that every time you fish you sit
still there on your seat like a perfect automaton!"
With this preamble, Mistress Ulrica opened the floodgates of her
ill-humor, to which on occasions like the present especially she gave
perfect freedom.
"An automaton, my dear!"
"A post, a perfect post. You do not even turn your head; just as though
the company of your wife and child was the most wearisome thing of your
life."
But dearest Ulrique Eugenie, I must keep watch for a bite. If I turn
around--"
"You would not lose the sense of feeling if you should; but you hope, I
suppose, that persons on the shore will think you master of the boat.
Simpleton! What folly to think that!"
"Dear Ulrique Eugenie, shall I ask if you have spared my nephew your
ill-humor that you may vent it on me. It is my opinion--"
"What is your opinion, sir?"
"O nothing further than that I am sufficiently burdened with your
natural bad-temper already, without having it increased by the aid of
another.
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