Yes, I know he was.
Mrs. Alving.
It was like a breezy day only to look at him. And what exuberant strength and vitality there was in him!
Oswald.
Well——?
Mrs. Alving.
Well then, child of joy as he was—for he was like a child in those days—he had to live at home here in a half-grown town, which had no joys to offer him—only dissipations. He had no object in life—only an official position. He had no work into which he could throw himself heart and soul; he had only business. He had not a single comrade that could realise what the joy of life meant—only loungers and boon-companions——
Oswald.
Mother——!
Mrs. Alving.