Dina: No.
Rorlund: Why not?
Dina (looking at him): Because I am one of the "poor fallen creatures", you know.
Rorlund: For shame, Dina.
Dina: So was my mother.
Rorlund: Who has spoken to you about such things?
Dina: No one; they never do. Why don't they? They all handle me in such a gingerly fashion, as if they thought I should go to pieces if they---. Oh, how I hate all this kind-heartedness.
Rorlund: My dear Dina, I can quite understand that you feel repressed here, but--
Dina: Yes; if only I could get right away from here. I could make my own way quite well, if only I did not live amongst people who are so--so--
Rorlund: So what?