Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 11).djvu/388

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Ugh—what the devil would you do in those damnable sickly gutters—floundering about in the brackish ditchwater? Dishwater I should rather call it.

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There, you hear, Rubek!

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No, much better come up with me to the mountains—away, clean away, from the trail and taint of men. You can't think what that means for me. But such a little lady

[He stops.

[The comes out of the pavilion and goes into the hotel.

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[Following her with his eyes.] Just look at her, do! That night-crow there!—Who is it that's to be buried?

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I have not heard of any one

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Well, there's some one on the point of giving up the ghost, then—in one corner or another.—People that are sickly and rickety should have the goodness to see about getting themselves buried—the sooner the better.