Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 8).djvu/332

 my mind every day; I am full of it. Every afternoon, when I have had my dinner, I shut myself up in the parlour, where I can ponder undisturbed. But I can't be goaded to it; it's not a bit of good; Relling says so too.

Gregers.

And you don't think that all that business in the garret draws you off and distracts you too much?

Hialmar.

No no no; quite the contrary. You mustn't say that. I cannot be everlastingly absorbed in the same laborious train of thought. I must have something alongside of it to fill up the time of waiting. The inspiration, the intuition, you see—when it comes, it comes, and there's an end of it.

Gregers.

My dear Hialmar, I almost think you have something of the wild duck in you.

Hialmar.

Something of the wild duck? How do you mean?

Gregers.

You have dived down and bitten yourself fast in the undergrowth.

Hialmar.

Are you alluding to the well-nigh fatal shot that has broken my father's wing—and mine too?

Gregers.

Not exactly to that. I don't say that your wing has been broken; but you have strayed into a