here. Don't you think we had better stop, so that you can get a
rest?

ADOLPH. No, don't leave me! I don't dare to be alone!

GUSTAV. Oh, for a little while only--and then the lady will come.

ADOLPH. Yes, she is coming!--It's all so queer! I long for her,
but I am afraid of her. She pets me, she is tender to me, but
there is suffocation in her kisses--something that pulls and
numbs. And I feel like a circus child that is being pinched by the
clown in order that it may look rosy-cheeked when it appears
before the public.

GUSTAV. I feel very sorry for you, my friend. Without being a
physician, I can tell that you are a dying man. It is enough to
look at your latest pictures in order to see that.

ADOLPH. You think so? How can you see it?

GUSTAV. Your colour is watery blue, anaemic, thin, so that the
cadaverous yellow of the canvas shines through. And it impresses
me as if your own hollow, putty-coloured checks were showing
beneath--

ADOLPH. Oh, stop, stop!

GUSTAV. Well, this is not only my personal opinion. Have you read
to-day's paper?