OSWALD. Yes; that's what I thought; and so I came home to you. But
that will not do. I see it won't do. I cannot endure my life here.

MRS. ALVING. Oswald!

OSWALD. I must live differently, mother. That is why I must leave
you. I will not have you looking on at it.

MRS. ALVING. My unhappy boy! But, Oswald, while you are so ill as
this--

OSWALD. If it were only the illness, I should stay with you,
mother, you may be sure; for you are the best friend I have in the
world.

MRS. ALVING. Yes, indeed I am, Oswald; am I not?

OSWALD. [Wanders restlessly about.] But it's all the torment, the
gnawing remorse--and then, the great, killing dread. Oh--that awful
dread!

MRS. ALVING. [Walking after him.] Dread? What dread? What do you
mean?

OSWALD. Oh, you mustn't ask me any more. I don't know. I can't
describe it.

MRS. ALVING. [Goes over to the right and pulls the bell.]

OSWALD. What is it you want?