Ove looks displeased and pushes his hands deeper into his jacket pockets.
He is still having a bit of trouble breathing. “Don’t have to at all,” he says.
“Jesus, what’s wrong with you?” “I don’t get along with cats very well,” Ove informs her and plants his heels in the snow.
But her gaze when she turns around makes him move a little farther away.
“Maybe he’s sleeping,” he offers, peering into the hole. Before adding: “Otherwise he’ll come out when it thaws.”
When the glove comes flying towards him again he confirms to himself that keeping a safe distance was a very sound idea.
But the next thing he knows Parvaneh has dived into the snowdrift; she emerges seconds later with the little deep-frozen creature in her thin arms.
It looks like four ice pops clumsily wrapped in a shredded scarf.
“Open the door!” she yells, really losing her composure now. Ove presses the soles of his shoes into the snow.
He had certainly not begun this day with the intention of letting either women or cats into his house, he’d like to make that very clear to her.
But she comes right at him with the animal in her arms and determination in her steps.
It’s really only a question of the speed of his reactions whether she walks through him or past him.
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