Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 11).djvu/132



Can you wish it?

Yes,—if it were possible. [With an outburst.] For this—I cannot bear this for ever! Oh, can we not think of something that will bring us forgetfulness!

[Shakes his head.] What could that be?

Could we not see what travelling would do—far away from here?

From home? When you know you are never really well anywhere but here.

Well, then, let us have crowds of people about us! Keep open house! Plunge into something that can deaden and dull our thoughts.

Such a life would be impossible for me.—No,—rather than that, I would try to take up my work again.

[Bitingly.] Your work—the work that has always stood like a dead wall between us!