LOVBORG.
I have torn my own life to pieces. So why should I not tear my life-work too—?
MRS. ELVSTED.
And you did this last night?
LOVBORG.
Yes, I tell you! Tore it into a thousand pieces—and scattered them on the fiord—far out. There there is cool sea-water at any rate—let them drift upon it—drift with the current and the wind. And then presently they will sink—deeper and deeper—as I shall, Thea.
MRS. ELVSTED.
Do you know, Lovborg, that what you have done with the book—I shall think of it to my dying day as though you had killed a little child.
LOVBORG.
Yes, you are right. It is a sort of child-murder.