"Really," said the poet, without enthusiasm.

"I mean that I'm such an insignificant poet that it isn't worthwhile getting me to compose a poem," said Ólafur Kárason modestly. | The secretary gave the poet a stern and searching look and finally said, "I no longer understand young people nowadays. It's as if nothing serious or important makes any impression on young people any longer. The modern craze seems to be to squander money needlessly if possible. But luckily it isn't possible. Even you, young man, who are said to have a poetic bent, yes, and some say you even possess a modicum of intelligence, you just say 'Really' when you're invited to take part in a ceremony which is destined to revolutionize the religious, scientific, and moral life of the nation." | "Really," said the poet. | "Really?" repeated the doctor. "Are you saying Really? What d'you mean? What a damned fool you are, boy. It can cost you dear to say Really, let me warn you. Drink up, or I'll tie you up and pour [this brennivín] down your throat."