Yes. Suppose the fault was mine—in a certain sense.
Hilda.
Your fault! The fire!
Solness.
All of it; the whole thing. And yet, perhaps—I may not have had anything to do with it.
Hilda.
[Looks at him with a troubled expression.] Oh, Mr. Solness—if you can talk like that, I am afraid you must be—ill, after all.
Solness.
H’m—I don’t think I shall ever be of quite sound mind on that point.
Ragnar Brovik cautiously opens the little door in the left-hand corner. Hilda comes forward.