[She dries his face with her pocket-handkerchief.
Oswald.
[Stares indifferently in front of him.] Thanks, mother.
Mrs. Alving.
Are you not tired, Oswald? Should you like to sleep?
Oswald.
[Nervously.] No, no—not to sleep! I never sleep. I only pretend to. [Sadly.] That will come soon enough.
Mrs. Alving.
[Looking sorrowfully at him.] Yes, you really are ill, my blessëd boy.
Regina.