HILDA.
[Looks at him with quiet reproach.] And yet you would bar him out.
Fie, Mr. Solness!
SOLNESS.
The fight I have been fighting has cost heart's blood enough.--And
I am afraid, too, that the helpers and servers will not obey me any
longer.
HILDA.
Then you must go ahead without them. There is nothing else for it.
SOLNESS.
It is hopeless, Hilda. The luck is bound to turn. A little sooner
or a little later. Retribution is inexorable.
HILDA.
[In distress, putting her hands over her ears.] Don't talk like
that! Do you want to kill me? To take from me what is more than
my life?
SOLNESS.
And what is that?
HILDA.
The longing to see you great. To see you, with a wreath in your
hand, high, high up upon a church-tower. [Calm again.] Come, out
with your pencil now. You must have a pencil about you?
SOLNESS.
[Takes out his pocket-book.] I have one here.
HILDA.
[Lays the portfolio on the sofa-table.] Very well. Now let us two
sit down here, Mr. Solness. [SOLNESS seats himself at the table.
HILDA stands behind him, leaning over the back of the chair.] And
now we well write on the drawings.
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