Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 11).djvu/483

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Give me that knife, Irene!

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[Concealing it.] You shall not have it. I may very likely find a use for it myself.

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What use can you have for it, here?

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[Looks fixedly at him.] It was intended for you, Arnold.

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For me!

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As we were sitting by the Lake of Taunitz last evening

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By the Lake of

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—outside the peasant's hut—and playing with swans and water-lilies

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What then—what then?

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—and when I heard you say with such deathly, icy coldness—that I was nothing but an episode in your life