Rosmer.
Will you have the kindness to let me hear what it is?
Mortensgård.
Cannot you guess for yourself, Pastor?
Rosmer.
No, certainly not. I have not the slightest idea.
Mortensgård.
Well well, I suppose I must come out with it then.—I have in my possession a strange letter, dated from Rosmersholm.
Rosmer.
Miss West’s letter, do you mean? Is it so strange?