of death--though I should like to live as long as I can.

MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes, Oswald, you must!

OSWALD. But this is so unutterably loathsome. To become a little
baby again! To hive to be fed! To have to--Oh, it's not to be
spoken of!

MRS. ALVING. The child has his mother to nurse him.

OSWALD. [Springs up.] No, never that! That is just what I will not
have. I can't endure to think that perhaps I should lie in that
state for many years--and get old and grey. And in the meantime you
might die and leave me. [Sits in MRS. ALVING'S chair.] For the
doctor said it wouldn't necessarily prove fatal at once. He called
it a sort of softening of the brain--or something like that.
[Smiles sadly.] I think that expression sounds so nice. It always
sets me thinking of cherry-coloured velvet--something soft and
delicate to stroke.

MRS. ALVING. [Shrieks.] Oswald!

OSWALD. [Springs up and paces the room.] And now you have taken
Regina from me. If I could only have had her! She would have come
to the rescue, I know.

MRS. ALVING. [Goes to him.] What do you mean by that, my darling
boy? Is there any help in the world that I would not give you?

OSWALD. When I got over my attack in Paris, the doctor told me that