Oswald.
But it isn’t that that is the matter with me; not any ordinary fatigue——
Mrs. Alving.
[Tries to jump up.] You are not ill, Oswald?
Oswald.
[Draws her down again.] Sit still, mother. Do take it quietly. I’m not downright ill, either; not what is commonly called “ill.” [Clasps his hands above his head.] Mother, my mind is broken down—ruined—I shall never be able to work again!
[With his hands before his face, he buries his head in her lap, and breaks into bitter sobbing.
Mrs. Alving.
[White and trembling.] Oswald! Look at me! No, no; it’s not true.
Oswald.