RITA. You mean that happiness—that we can never find it again? [Looks inquiringly at him.] But if—? [Vehemently.] No, no; I dare not say it! Nor even think it!
ALLMERS. Yes, say it—say it, Rita.
RITA. [Hesitatingly.] Could we not try to—? Would it not be possible to forget him?
ALLMERS. Forget Eyolf?
RITA. Forget the anguish and remorse, I mean.
ALLMERS. Can you wish it?
RITA. Yes,—if it were possible. [With an outburst.] For this—I cannot bear this for ever! Oh, can we not think of something that will bring its forgetfulness!
ALLMERS. [Shakes his head.] What could that be?
RITA. Could we not see what travelling would do—far away from here?
ALLMERS. From home? When you know you are never really well anywhere but here.