Borkman.
[Harshly and decisively.] You are no poet, Vilhelm.
Foldal.
[Unconsciously folding his hands.] Do you say that in sober earnest?
Borkman.
[Dismissing the subject, without answering.] We are only wasting each other’s time. You had better not come here again.
Foldal.
Then you really want me to leave you?
Borkman.
[Without looking at him.] I have no longer any use for you.