It looks at Ove as if this has been a round of negotiation and it’s considering a proposal.
Then slowly gets up and pads off, disappearing around the corner of the shed.
Ove doesn’t even look at it. He goes right into his house and slams the door. Because it’s enough now. Now Ove is going to die.
A MAN CALLED OVE DRILLS A HOLE FOR A HOOK
Ove has put on his best trousers and his going-out shirt.
Carefully he covers the floor with a protective sheet of plastic, as if protecting a valuable work of art.
Not that the floor is particularly new (although he did sand it less than two years ago).
He’s fairly sure that you don’t lose much blood when you hang yourself, and it isn’t because of worries about the dust or the drilling.
Or the marks when he kicks away the stool. In fact he’s glued some plastic pads to the bottoms of its legs,
so there shouldn’t be any marks at all.
No, the heavy-duty sheets of plastic which Ove so carefully unfolds, covering the entire hall, living room, and a good part of the kitchen,
are not for Ove’s own sake at all. He imagines there’ll be a hell of a lot of running about in here,
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