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"
What
I
was
going
to
say
was
,
'
where
do
you
live
?
'
"
On
the
spur
of
the
moment
a
lie
stood
,
ready-made
,
in
my
head
.
I
lied
involuntarily
,
without
any
object
,
without
any
arrière
pensée
,
and
I
answered
--
"
St.
Olav
's
Place
,
No.
2
.
"
"
Really
?
"
He
knew
every
stone
in
St.
Olav
's
Place
.
There
was
a
fountain
,
some
lamp-posts
,
a
few
trees
;
he
remembered
all
of
it
.
"
What
number
do
you
live
in
?
"
Desirous
to
put
an
end
to
this
,
I
got
up
.
But
my
notion
about
the
newspaper
had
driven
me
to
my
wit
's
end
;
I
resolved
to
clear
the
thing
up
,
at
no
matter
what
cost
.
"
When
you
can
not
read
the
paper
,
why
--
"
"
In
No.
2
,
I
think
you
said
,
"
continued
the
man
,
without
noticing
my
disturbance
.
"
There
was
a
time
I
knew
every
person
in
No.
2
;
what
is
your
landlord
's
name
?
"
I
quickly
found
a
name
to
get
rid
of
him
;
invented
one
on
the
spur
of
the
moment
,
and
blurted
it
out
to
stop
my
tormentor
.
"
Happolati
!
"
said
I.
