Rosmer. It must be so! It must! I cannot—I will not—go through life with a dead body on my back. Help me to throw it off, Rebecca; and then let us stifle all memories in our sense of freedom, in joy, in passion. You shall be to me the only wife I have ever had.
Rebecca (controlling herself). Never speak of this, again. I will never be your wife.
Rosmer. What! Never? Do you think, then, that you could not learn to love me? Is not our friendship already tinged with love?
Rebecca (stopping her ears, as if in fear). Don't speak like that, John! Don't say such things!
Rosmer (catching her by the arm). It is true! There is a growing possibility in the tie that is between us. I can see that you feel that, as well as I—do you not, Rebecca?
Rebecca (controlling herself completely). Listen. Let me tell you this—if you persist in this, I shall leave Rosmersholm.
Rosmer. Leave Rosmersholm! You! You cannot do that. It is impossible.
Rebecca. It is still more impossible for me to become your wife. Never, as long as I live, can I be that.
Rosmer (looks at her in surprise). You say "can"—and you say it so strangely. Why can you not?
Rebecca (taking both his hands in hers). Dear friend—for your own sake, as well as for mine, do not ask me why. (Lets go of his hands.) So, John. (Goes towards the door on the left.)