and who had lied for no other reason than that he enjoyed riding with her on the train so very much.
He assumed this would be the only dinner he ever had with her, and he did not think she deserved having it with a fraudster.
When he had finished his story he put his napkin on the table and got out his wallet to pay.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, shamefaced, and kicked his chair leg a little, before adding in such a low voice that it could hardly even be heard:
“I just wanted to know what it felt like to be someone you look at.”
As he was getting up she reached across the table and put her hand on his. “I’ve never heard you say so many words before.” She smiled.
He mumbled something about how this didn’t change the facts. He was a liar.
When she asked him to sit down again, he obliged her and sank back into his chair.
She wasn’t angry, the way he thought she’d be. She started laughing.
In the end she said it hadn’t actually been so difficult working out that he wasn’t doing his military service, because he never wore a uniform.
“Anyway, everyone knows soldiers don’t go home at five o’clock on weekdays.” Ove had hardly been as discreet as a Russian spy, she added.
She’d come to the conclusion that he had his reasons for it. And she’d liked the way he listened to her. And made her laugh.
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