The dog padded along beside him in blissful anticipation. It is lovely to be going home. And whenever she was a few yards ahead of her master, she would halt and look back at him with eyes full of an unwavering faith, then return to him on a big curve. Her reverence for her master was so great that she did not presume even to walk ahead of him. A dog finds in a man the things it looks for. He leaned into the gusts of driven snow, leading Blesi by the reins and casting an occasional glance at his dog—poor little thing, lousy and wormy, but where is fidelity to be found if not in those brown eyes—where the loyalty that nothing can subvert? Misfortune, dishonour, the pricks of conscience, nothing can quench this fire—poor little bitch, in her eyes Bjartur of Summerhouses must always be highest, greatest, best; the incomparable. Man finds in the eyes of a dog the things he looks for. Hell, but Blesi is heavy on the lead today. And yet there is a living creature on his back. A living creature?
What do You think about Independent People (1946)?
