Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/410



Pray excuse me, friend. I want a whiff of reason and the weed; I haven't smoked for three whole days on end. My blood was pulsing in such agitation, I trembled for rejection all the time—

Yes, you may well desire recuperation—

And won't tobacco's flavour be sublime!

[Goes out to the right. and some other  come out of the garden-room.

[to ].

That was he surely?

Yes, your hunted deer.

To run away from us!

For shame! For shame!

'Tis a bit shy at present, but, no fear, A week of servitude will make him tame.