Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 11).djvu/474

 nor fresh air, but only gilding and great petrified ghosts of people all round the walls.

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Devil take me, but it served her right!

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Yes, but don't you think it's quite a comical story, all the same?

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[Looks at her a moment.] Now listen to me, my good companion of the chase

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Well, what is it now?

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Should not we two tack our poor shreds of life together?

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Is his worship inclined to set up as a patching-tailor?

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Yes, indeed he is. Might not we two try to draw the rags together here and there—so as to make some sort of a human life out of them?

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And when the poor tatters were quite worn out—what then?