By Helen Constantine, Lotte Shankland
Exploring the various moods of the Danish capital.
From the slender twisting streets of the outdated city centre to the shady docklands, this wealthy anthology captures the essence of Copenhagen and its many faces. via seventeen stories by means of a number of the best possible of Denmark's writers prior and current, we commute the size and breadth of the Danish capital interpreting well-known attractions from designated views. A consultant publication usefully informs a brand new customer to Copenhagen yet those tales let the reader to adventure town and its historical past from the interior.
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Additional resources for Copenhagen Tales
I could hardly have been more precise . . ’ ‘I am totally at your command. ’ ‘Ready? How so? ’ ‘You can safely rely on me, Sir. My lips are sealed. I know . . I know you had a meeting up here . . the other day . . ’ ‘Yes, quite correct—the social committee gathered here in view of tonight’s banquet . . ’ ‘There is no need to be afraid of me. Like I said, Sir, I’ve known how to keep my mouth shut all this time. Give me any task you will. I’ll take on anyone, even if it be—the man himself! ’ cried the fair-haired gentleman of a sudden, instinctively taking a step back towards his desk.
He asked. 28 n Henrik Pontoppidan Reinald replied that he had only that very evening arrived in the city from abroad and was therefore in complete ignorance. But he would appreciate some information; he had heard so many rumours. ’ ‘About the gendarmes? ’ ‘No! Has . . has something happened? ’ Reinald stammered out. ’ cried the fat man in horror. ‘What more could possibly happen? Isn’t it dangerous enough already? Thank the Lord I don’t bother myself with politics and that. To my way of thinking the Right or the Left would be equally good, if they could only agree.
She laid her hand over his, but removed it again quickly. He was thinking he couldn’t remember when he had last taken such a whipping. ’ He wished he’d said something more. Something more convincing, but his voice withered in the empty foyer. He thought of the teenage Grethe Thordal singing about how she looked forward to her ﬁrst ball. His hand crept into his pocket to check the bit of paper with the address was still there. He saw his plastic grandchildren sitting at the decorated table. Masters of aloofness.
Copenhagen Tales by Helen Constantine, Lotte Shankland