Whenever she chanced to meet one of the family, and especially Fanny, her heart seemed to cease beating; but they passed her with as much unconcern as if they knew nothing, or as if she had nothing to do with them.
Many a time also she had met him.

At first they passed each other hurriedly, but after a time he also seemed to have forgotten, and now he greeted her with a friendly nod, and the well-known voice said, "How are you, Marianne ?" It was as if these people lived surrounded by a thick wall of indifference, against which her tiny existence was shattered like fragile glass.
Marianne took a short cut through the ship-yard, where the carpenters were busy dividing the shavings and putting them into sacks.

She found her grandfather, who had finished his work in the pitch-house, and they set off homewards together.
Anders Begmand lived in the last of the little red-painted cottages which lay below the steep slope on the western side of the bay of Sandsgaard.

The road along the shore was only a footpath leading to the door of each cottage, and then on to the next.

Seaweed and half-decayed fish refuse lay on the shore, while at the back of the houses were heaps of kitchen refuse, and other abominations.