Présentation de l'éditeur
There are twelve black beetles running round the face of the old clock. No, no, replied the little woman, in whose voice was a stammer and a stutter, while she never stopped knitting the big grey stocking that hung down almost to the floor. That syour fever. And the doctor said to-day, that if the fever came back again, then it would be bad. That svery likely, said Krischan Kliith, the pilot, and the pain made him crumple up still more under the red and white checked coverlet. But Ive counted the beetles listen, one of them is humming. One of the weights of the old wooden clock in the corner fell with a dull sound. Six, counted little Frau Kliith. Then she gave a deep sigh. Now Ill get a light. That sright, motherkin; it ought to be bright when he comes. Yes, if he does come, said Frau Kliith thoughtfully. For if you dont invite him most politely, he wont come. A tallow candle flickered on the birchwood chest of drawers.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)
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