Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 11).djvu/423

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[With interest.] Well? And then?

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[A little oppressed.] You are not a particularly sociable man, Rubek. You like to keep yourself to yourself and think your own thoughts. And of course I can't talk properly to you about your affairs. I know nothing about art and that sort of thing— [With an impatient gesture.] And care very little either, for that matter!

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Well, well; and that's why we generally sit by the fireside, and chat of your affairs.

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Oh, good gracious—I have no affairs to chat about.

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Well, they are trifles, perhaps; but at any rate the time passes for us in that way as well as another, Maia.

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Yes, you are right. Time passes. It is passing away from you, Rubek.—And I suppose it is really that that makes you so uneasy

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[Nods vehemently.] And so restless! [Writhing in his seat.] No, I shall soon not be able to endure this pitiful life any longer.