work again! Never!--never! A living death! Mother, can you imagine
anything so horrible?

MRS. ALVING. My poor boy! How has this horrible thing come upon you?

OSWALD. [Sitting upright again.] That's just what I cannot possibly
grasp or understand. I have never led a dissipated life never, in
any respect. You mustn't believe that of me, mother! I've never
done that.

MRS. ALVING. I am sure you haven't, Oswald.

OSWALD. And yet this has come upon me just the same--this awful
misfortune!

MRS. ALVING. Oh, but it will pass over, my dear, blessed boy.
It's nothing but over-work. Trust me, I am right.

OSWALD. [Sadly.] I thought so too, at first; but it isn't so.

MRS. ALVING. Tell me everything, from beginning to end.

OSWALD. Yes, I will.

MRS. ALVING. When did you first notice it?

OSWALD. It was directly after I had been home last time, and had
got back to Paris again. I began to feel the most violent pains in
my head--chiefly in the back of my head, they seemed to come. It
was as though a tight iron ring was being screwed round my neck and