Gustav [stepping a little to the right]. Look here, old chap, I am awfully sorry to have to tell you, but the symptoms of epilepsy are already manifesting themselves.
Adolf [crushed]. In me? What makes you say so.
Gustav. Because I watched these symptoms in a younger brother of mine, who eventually died of excess.
[He sits down in the arm-chair by the circular table.]
Adolf. How did it manifest itself—that disease, I mean?
[Gustav gesticulates vividly; Adolf watches with strained attention, and involuntarily imitates Gustav's gestures.]
Gustav. A ghastly sight. If you feel at all off color, I'd rather not harrow you by describing the symptoms.
Adolf [nervously]. Go on; go on.
Gustav. Well, it's like this. Fate had given the youngster for a wife a little innocent, with kiss-curls, dove-like eyes, and a baby face, from which there spoke the pure soul of an angel. In spite of that, the little one managed to appropriate the man's prerogative.
Adolf. What is that?