When she'd read the letter she went in to see J. I can't walk anymore. The room, that smelt of turpentine and was untidy, turned out to be a big studio heated by a gasburner. The smell of oil in the air was huge and furry.
At noon they handed him a kind of stew that was mostly potatoes with eyes in them and some more bread and margarine. More grateful than you'll ever know. Svenson was there sitting in the ticket booth at the rol ercoaster with a straw hat on the back of his head. I told Jo the same thing.
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