Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 11).djvu/367

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Well well, if only it is the right thing for you

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For me? The right thing? There is nothing in the world the matter with me.

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[Rises and goes up to him.] Yes, there is, Rubek. I am sure you must feel it yourself.

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Why, my dearest Maia—what should be amiss with me?

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[''Behind him, bending over the back of his chair''.] That you must tell me. You have begun to wander about without a moment's peace. You cannot rest anywhere—neither at home nor abroad. You have become quite misanthropic of late.

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[With a touch of sarcasm.] Dear me—have you noticed that?

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No one that knows you can help noticing it. And then it seems to me so sad that you have lost all pleasure in your work.

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That too, eh?