Ella Rentheim.
Yes, this winter air is too keen for you; I can see that, John. So come—come in with me—into the house, into the warmth.
Borkman.
[Angrily.] Up to the gallery again, I suppose.
Ella Rentheim.
No, rather into the room below.
Borkman.
[His anger-flaming forth.] Never will I set foot under that roof again!
Ella Rentheim.
Where will you go then? So late, and in the dark, John?