I must live differently, mother. That is why I must leave you. I will not have you looking on at it.
Mrs. Alving.
My unhappy boy! But, Oswald, while you are so ill as this——
Oswald.
If it were only the illness, I should stay with you, mother, you may be sure; for you are the best friend I have in the world.
Mrs. Alving.
Yes, indeed I am, Oswald; am I not?
Oswald.
[Wanders restlessly about.] But it’s all the torment, the gnawing remorse—and then, the great, killing dread. Oh—that awful dread!
Mrs. Alving.