“Have a good day!” “Yeah, yeah,” answers Ove without turning around as he trudges past. Mutt is outside that Anders thing’s house, barking furiously.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ove sees the Weed still standing there with a scorching smile in his direction.
It disturbs Ove. He doesn’t quite know the reason for it, but he feels a disturbance in his bones.
As he walks up between the houses, past the bicycle shed, and into the parking area,
he reluctantly admits to himself that he’s walking around looking for the cat, but he can’t seem to find it anywhere.
He opens his garage door, unlocks the Saab, and then stands there, his hands in his pockets, for what must be in excess of a half hour.
He doesn’t quite know why he’s doing it, he just feels that something like this requires some kind of sanctified silence before one heads off.
He considers whether the paintwork of the Saab will become terribly dirty as a result of this.
He supposes so. It’s a pity and a shame, he realizes, but not much can be done about it.
He gives the tires a couple of evaluating kicks. They’re in fine order, they really are.
Good for at least another three winters, he estimates, judging by his last kick.
Which quickly reminds him about the letter in the inside pocket of his jacket,
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