[Looks attentively at him.] You are ill, Mr. Solness. Very ill, I almost think.
Solness.
Say mad; for that is what you mean.
Hilda.
No, I don’t think there is much amiss with your intellect.
Solness.
With what then? Out with it!
Hilda.
I wonder whether you were not sent into the world with a sickly conscience.
Solness.