But with infinite difficulty her lips form one word.
“Go!” she says.
“Who shall go? Shall I go?”
“The priest shall go,” she stammers out.
“Elizabeth, be silent!”
“The drunken priest shall leave my house!”
“Anna, Anna,” Gösta asks, “what does she mean?”
“You had better go, Gösta.”
“Why shall I go? What does all this mean?”
“Anna,” says Countess Elizabeth, “tell him, tell him!”