But I’d been afraid even earlier. For example when my dog died. The same dog that made me feel blameworthy once and for all. He was very ill. I had been kneeling all day beside him when suddenly he gave a short jerky bark as he used to do whenever a stranger came into the room. It was the type of bark that was reserved for such occasions, so to speak, and I automatically glanced towards the door. But the bark was already inside him. Worriedly I searched his eyes and he searched mine; but not to say our goodbyes. He looked hard at me; he was displeased. He was accusing me of having let it in. He was convinced I could have prevented it. It was evident that he had always overestimated me. And there was no time left for me to explain. Disconsolate and lonely he kept his eyes fixed on me right to the end.
In The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge