At the desk in the outer
office stands KAIA FOSLI, writing in the ledger. KNUT BROVICK
is a spare old man with white hair and beard. He wears a
rather threadbare but well-brushed black coat, with spectacles,
and a somewhat discoloured white neckcloth. RAGNAR BROVIK is
a well-dressed, light-haired man in his thirties, with a
slight stoop. KAIA FOSLI is a slightly built girl, a little
over twenty, carefully dressed, and delicate-looking. She has
a green shade over her eyes.--All three go on working for some
time in silence.
KNUT BROVIK.
[Rises suddenly, as if in distress, from the table; breathes heavily
and laboriously as he comes forward into the doorway.] No, I can't
bear it much longer!
KAIA.
[Going up to him.] You are feeling very ill this evening, are you
not, Uncle?
BROVIK.
Oh, I seem to get worse every day.
RAGNAR.
[Has risen and advances.] You ought to go home, father. Try to get
a little sleep---
BROVIK.
[Impatiently.] Go to bed, I suppose? Would you have me stifled
outright?
KAIA.
Then take a little walk.
RAGNAR.
Yes, do. I will come with you.
BROVIK.
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