Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 5).djvu/209

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[Tearing her hand away.] Faugh! there he was again!

She does not see me. Here, here, Helena!

The loathsome creature;—he is always about me.

What does she mean?

Stand apart, gracious lord!

Sweet stillness! He does not dream; oh my Gallus!

Gallus!

Go, noble Caesar; it is not meet!

How boldly your close-curling hair curves over your neck! Oh that short, thick neck

Abyss of all abysses!

The delirium is increasing