But to know that one never can free oneself,
That one can’t even die like a decent soul;
To live as a hill-troll for all one’s days—
To feel that one never can beat a retreat,—
As the book has it, that’s what your heart is set on;
But that is a thing I can never agree to.
The Old Man.
Now, sure as I live, I shall soon lose my temper;
And then I am not to be trifled with.
You pasty-faced loon! Do you know who I am?