Ghosts by Henrik Ibsen
page 83 of 126 (65%)
page 83 of 126 (65%)
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about it; and since I've come home--
MRS. ALVING. [Seizes him by the arm.] Oswald, what is the matter? OSWALD. Both yesterday and to-day I have tried to put the thoughts away from me--to cast them off; but it's no use. MRS. ALVING. [Rising.] Now you must tell me everything, Oswald! OSWALD. [Draws her down to the sofa again.] Sit still; and then I will try to tell you.--I complained of fatigue after my journey-- MRS. ALVING. Well? What then? OSWALD. But it isn't that that is the matter with me; not any ordinary fatigue-- MRS. ALVING. [Tries to jump up.] You are not ill, Oswald? OSWALD. [Draws her down again.] Sit still, mother. Do take it quietly. I'm not downright ill, either; not what is commonly called "ill." [Clasps his hands above his head.] Mother, my mind is broken down--ruined--I shall never be able to work again! [With his hands before his face, he buries his head in her lap, and breaks into bitter sobbing.] MRS. ALVING. [White and trembling.] Oswald! Look at me! No, no; it's not true. OSWALD. [Looks up with despair in his eyes.] Never to be able to |
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