Gina.
[Brings a dish of butter.] Look here; this is fresh churned.
[She pours out another cup of coffee for him; he seats himself on the sofa, spreads more butter on the already buttered bread, and eats and drinks awhile in silence.
Hialmar.
Could I, without being subject to intrusion—intrusion of any sort—could I live in the sitting-room there for a day or two?
Gina.
Yes, to be sure you could, if you only would.
Hialmar.
For I see no possibility of getting all father’s things out in such a hurry.
Gina.