Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 11).djvu/169



[Advancing a pace towards him.] Tell me, Alfred—could you think of taking up your work again?

The work that you have hated so?

I am easier to please now. I am willing to share you with the book.

Why?

Only to keep you here with me—to have you near me.

Oh, it is so little I can do to help you, Rita.

But perhaps I could help you.

With my book, do you mean?

No; but to live your life.

[Shaking his head.] I seem to have no life to live.

Well then, to endure your life.